It took me a week in 2021 to cry. I’ve seen my son’s tears multiple times in that week, surely. And I don’t remember the last time I cried in 2020. But I could hold it for a whole week in this new year. And then, January 8th, here we go.

The first time I cried was at night after Anvar threw a tantrum at around 2 am. I was trying to change him because his diapers leaked. And he was screaming, tossing and turning as if I was trying to do something horrible to him. All I wanted to do was to sleep. When the mission was accomplished, and we decided to keep him in our bed for the rest of the night, my husband went to the bathroom and Anvar started screaming again. By the time he fell asleep I was morally exhausted. So I quietly sobbed while he was peacefully snuffling next to me.

Then during the day he was constantly giving me a hard time. While I was putting him down for his nap, I started looking through his photos starting from the very first ones at the hospital. And the memories just covered me instantly. But the memories were not about certain actions or happenings, they were about the feelings. The feeling of love, to be exact. So much love, that no one could put into words.

I remembered feeling this huge warm care and adorementship towards this tiny human being. Look how little he was. Is that even real? I felt like the two of us were tied up by this invisible warm blanket. I know I had horrible cracks on my nipples but I can’t remember what that felt like. I know for sure it was painful as hell but I. Don’t. Remember. That. Pain. A miraculous work of mother’s love.

When I looked at those photos, I wanted to held that little him in my arms again. To tell him how much I loved him. To kiss his little face, to breathe in his heavenly smell. So, naturally I shed tears again.

And then in the evening me and my husband went to visit some relatives for about an hour and a half. We left Anvar with his grandma and aunt. It was the first time ever both of us left him. Leaving we sneaked out so he wouldn’t see us leave and cry. When we came back he was happily playing, kind of even ignored us, and they said he didn’t cry at all. They said that at one point he looked a bit sad, went through all the rooms looking, but that didn’t last long. He also ate his dinner with dad because I went to banya. So, I had time to spend without him and to miss him. And when I was putting him down for the night, first I hold him in my hands singing the lullaby. I remembered the tiny face from the photos and kissed his sweet nose and cheeks. Then I put him to his bed and continued singing. In a while, he stood up and I turned on the music and whispered to him words wishing a good night, sweet dreams, saying how much I loved him. And I began crying again. I looked at him, being so big, but also being my little boy at the same time. The love I felt couldn’t be contained in my heart so it pushed out with my tears. This love is bigger than my heart. It’s bigger than me. I don’t know exactly how big it is, but it’s enormous. I love you, my little boy.