Broken

A friend told me recently that you broke me, but in the best way possible. Which you did. After years of stasis, I now find myself in a near-constant state of evolving and adapting. Things that would have made me tense or made me break down in tears at other times in my life now make me smile or just sit down and laugh. You spill Cheerios, wriggle around in poo, or whack me in the face with a toy, and often, my only response is amusement. It warms my heart to see how gleefully you go through life, unaware of the need to show caution or restraint or moderation. I used to know how to do that too, I realize, and somewhere along the way, I forgot a little bit more than I intended.

In breaking me, you also broke so much of what restrained me - so many fears and anxieties that simply don't fit with who you are and what you need from me. You broke my heart too, and you break it every day, when you wail with abandon, when your face crumbles like an empty paper bag, when you clutch your scarf with anticipation of being picked up, when you concentrate so hard on picking up something small. I see you wanting and know that you have a lifetime of wanting ahead, a lifetime of things I can't possibly and shouldn't even consider doing for you. It seems to do me good somehow, though. Perhaps I'm learning that hearts break and get put back together all the time, that this morning's tragedy is quickly forgotten, that a good nap can erase a bad night, that a smile covers up so many frustrations. Being broken is freeing - you can put yourself back together however you like.