A Mother's Paradox

Today I refilled 10,000 bowls of Cheerios, and I yelled when they woke the baby. Then my three year old told me she knew I was proud of her, so I wrote this in an apple juice stained notebook and made everyone late for school.

I want you to leave me alone for five whole minutes. 
I want you to never stop needing me.

I want you to use your quiet voice
to tell me all your secrets.

You need to pick up your toys,
but don't you ever stop playing. 

I want you to never be afraid to color outside of the lines.
You should always look both ways before you do.

I want you to be fearless.
I want to carry your shield and fight all your battles.

Your wings will grow broad and you'll soar.
I want your feet strong enough to carry them.

I want you to love without restraint.
I want to keep your heart safe.

This world could never be good enough for you.
It needs your brave, kind heart so badly.

I'll be so proud of you when you're on your way.
I'll keep my eyes on the horizon, just in case.