When you were a tadpole and I was fish
And the whole world had barely begun
I saw you swim by with a smile in your eye
And I loved you from that moment on
Saturday night. Luke is cradled in my arms as we pace around a gazebo. He’s tired. Across the garden, light spills from the windows with the muffled sound of music and chatter. Silhouettes of waltzing couples dance across the windows.
We’re at a ball to commemorate a friend’s birthday. I’m in a full Victorian ball gown, pacing the gravel walk behind the house, singing to my infant son in the quiet dark of the evening. My hair is pinned up in an up-sweep of cascading ringlets trimmed in pearls. The ringlets aren’t mine, in all honesty. They’re clipped on. My own straight-as-an-arrow hair is pinned up in a million bobby pins underneath. The curls tickle the back of my neck.
And through all the changes from fins into fingers
I’ve longed for the day you would be
The sweet loving person you’ve finally become
From that far away day in the sea
It’s amazing. You can sing the wrong words in the wrong key to the same old song over and over again, and they don’t care. As long you are doing the singing. Luke stares up at me with half-open eyes, watching me watching him. He heaves a sigh and lays his head against my chest.
The host’s home is an old Victorian downtown. Quite close to the same period as my costume actually. It occurs to me that I’m likely not the first woman to pace this yard with a sleepy babe. I cross the lawn, feeling the grass beneath my satin slippers.
Luke and I do our own dance, slowly around the yard. His breathing settles out as he drifts off to sleep, nuzzled against my neck.
I look down at my sleeping boy. His fist is wrapped tight around something. It’s a lock of my hair. He had reached up under the silly curls and found some little piece of my own hair and worked it free of the pins that held it out of sight as I sang to him. He’s holding it next to his cheek.
And my first wish
That you’d love me too because I’ve loved you since
You were a tadpole and I was a fish
I’ve just had my first mother’s day. You know instinctively how much you’ll love your children before they are even born. You are totally unprepared for it, but you know it nonetheless. What catches you off-guard is how much they love you. Totally and unconditionally.
This is what I have learned.
Because I’ve loved you since
You were a tadpole and I was a fish