Preschool Poet

It's been a while. One year ago my boy wouldn't touch water, couldn't chew or say more than a few words. He had never hugged a friend or even had a friend like the sweet one in this picture.

18 months since starting therapy. 9 months since starting preschool. 6 months since I first heard I love you.

And we find ourselves here. At that place where something broken catches refracted light and moves into lose your breath beauty.

For a long while, I fixated on wanting to hear Henry say I love you. More than just worrying about his speech, I wondered if he would ever feel love. Would his neurons ever give him enough peace to notice? Could he forget for one second that his physical world was bombarding him with anxiety to focus on another person?

The extravagant truth is that Henry has become a Petrarch of the preschool set. He won't stop telling us how much he loves us. He says it a hundred times a day. He tells you he'd love you on a sunny day or a rainy day. He yells it from his room across the house. He says he loves your eyes.

Lately, being Henry's mom is like listening to a violinist on the streets of Venice. I know the pigeons are dirty and occasionally I think the whole city is crumbling into the sea, but can you even believe this moment?

I'm guessing this kid is going to have his heart broken a thousand times in large and small ways. Here's to hoping all those pieces get gathered up to refract light into something beautiful.