love first.

When I tuck my kid in at night, I pray over him. First I whisper to him that he is so loved (straight up some Lily Potter parenting right there, folks), and then I say a prayer. It usually goes something like this:

Please, God, let him be healthy and strong as he grows. 

Please keep him safe. From the mean world, from the unforeseen, from himself. 

There's usually something along the lines of a 'please Lord keep his mama calm and sane,' which sounds like a prayer for me but I assure you his best interests are at heart. 

Please give him an open heart and a compassionate spirit and a desire to make his world better—for himself, but also for the people he crosses paths with. And, you know, for me. Obviously. 

Please, God, teach him to love well. He already does. At not quite three, he is so love-filled. He loves his life. Like, loves. his. life. His Lamby. His family and his scooter and the lady at the grocery store and piles of rocks. And me. Oh my gosh, how he loves me. He loves to touch me and hug me and climb on me. Sometimes while he's sitting next to me he'll roll over to get a little closer and say, "Mommy, I miss you." It makes me weepy already that someday someone will replace me in that way—someone else will be his first line of defense, his first call, his safe haven. 

I have no idea who that person will be. 

I have no idea who he'll grow up to love. Given our surroundings, chances are decent he'll fall in love with a pretty little midwestern Christian girl. And we will love her because our son does, and because she loves him. Even if we secretly think she's a little flaky and wears too much eye shadow, we'll love her. 

And if she's not white, or midwestern, or if she calls her God something else while she honors her faith through good living, or she's a he, we'll love her. We will love whomever our son chooses to love. 

For almost three years of praying over him, I've prayed innumerable times that he is well-loved. 

I've never prayed about who that love will come from (although I've prayed for that person). It's never crossed my mind to ask God to make sure my son is straight. I've never prayed that all his friends believe the same things his parents do. I've prayed for him to have love. And friends. And a life that lets him stay, as often as possible, the joyful, funny, empathetic, curious, snuggly maniac he already is. 

I love him ferociously. He understands that love is the most mighty thing. 

I love him completely. He's learning that love is a big deal. 

I love him even when he's being a total shit. He knows love comes first. 

I love him. 

I can’t wait to see who he’ll love in return.