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Dear Kid,

When I woke up next to you today, there was something in the air. And no, I don’t mean your pee, although you seem to be watering our sleeping space as if it were more of a flower bed than an actual one these past few weeks. And in the midst of doing our routine morning stretches, you carousing around our personal space as if you had the whole floor at your disposal and me closing my eyes, in hopes to catch a few seconds of aloneness, you suddenly ask me, ‘Mom, are you happy with me?’

I’m sure you must’ve found just reason in your mind to have had asked the question. But Oh Gawd. Oh no. Oh Dear. And just plain Oh. Please, kid, for the love of all things good, true and delectable, please don’t ask anyone that. Don’t give them the privilege of thinking your happiness is dependent on them. Don’t make them think for a second that happiness is something that is pegged on a thing, an ambition, an ideal or even a person.

You see, I don’ know if I’ve told you this already, but here’s a little secret, happiness? That concept that’s been so over sensationalized? Well, it’s pliant. It’s not pegged on anything.

What we want is never simple. Sometimes what we think we want doesn’t really exist. And what we think we didn’t want, does.  When we thought we wanted white picket fences, we’re given the world of flight instead. When we want poetry, we’re given prose. And when we thought we wanted admiration, we’re given respect instead. Happiness is never black and white. It’s all around. It’s a sensation. Not a currency. It shouldn’t rely on anyone or anything.

But it was my fault partially, I think. Once or twice I may have asked you if you were. Happy, I mean. With the good intentions of someone who wanted validation that yes, she’s going in the right direction. All is well. Bring in the sunshine and rainbows. But I realized, I should soap mouths, both yours and mine, for constantly looking for confirmation.

Let’s stop asking, okay? Let’s just be.