On our drive to find Dave two new pairs of jeans, Evelyn’s soft voice traveled to my ear from the backseat. “I love you, Mama.”
I turned to her, smiling. “You do?”
Without missing a beat, she continued, “Do you know why I say ‘I love you’ so much?”
My mind immediately went to the deep stuff—connection, belonging, the feel-good chemicals her brain releases when she sees me. I imagined her tiny heart full of attachment and security. “No,” I said, curious.
Then, matter-of-factly, she replied, “It’s because I have to talk so bad, and I just need to, but I don’t have anything to say. So I say that.”
So, are you telling me my precious little girl’s love is… like a tic? An itch she’s forced to scratch?
But maybe there’s a kind of beauty in that. Her love isn’t forced or calculated—it’s impulsive, instinctual, bubbling up when nothing else fits.
I can tell by the clothes piling up in the bathroom, which I glanced at and then intentionally ignored as I crawled into bed to write instead. Responsibility feels like too much tonight. And my midsection is tender from that monthly lady business. Too much information? Maybe—but it’s true.
I think this will be another short but sweet one tonight. Thanks for dropping in. I’ll see you tomorrow.
Love,
Jaclynn
Going On 40 