My own A.A. Reese

You are my first baby love
miracle
maker of my identity.

You made my dreams reality
and let me learn how at your expense.

You make me proud
to bursting at the seams with
love, and admiration, and hope.

You are my quasi-creation,
and because of this,


you are a reflection of me.
Me.
Mine.
You.
Yours.
You are you.

I must remember.

You are you.

You are (lean in so I can whisper this in your ear) beautiful...
a beautiful being.  I hesitate to tell it to you first, as if your appearance is who you are, but
I cannot deny the loveliness that you are.

Industrious.
You were appropriately named.
Your drive is unbeatable.
And girl, you can work.  Hard.

Your mind goes!
It is always observing, aware, processing, synapses and electrodes firing and wiring in chaos,
but wired well.

"Focus. Focus. Amelia, FOCUS."

And when you do, that energy becomes a power to behold.

You are kind.
You are tender-hearted.
You are a healer, a fixer, a doer.

You are brown-skin-chocolate.
You are brown-skin-chocolate in a world of white.

You belong here.
You belong here, but you are not us.
You belong here, but. you. are. not. me. (I can hardly type the words)
Because, you see, in addition to all that you are, you are brown.  And I am not.  And I will never be.  And you will never be.

So, it is what it is.

And although you are named after my model of a German grandmother and Dad's model of a Swedish grandmother, two who have gone before us and you, you are not them.  

You are, alone, a pioneer in this world of white.  I will be here, we all will, be right here, but you must do it alone because of who you are.

So, look to me, and grandmothers, and aunts, and sister.  But, also, look to them.  These women who I will shop for and show to you.  You, who I hope will, then, say,

Yes, I am yours.  I am these things.  But I am also brown, like them.  And I am Amelia Alice who is loved by many and spanning the divide between them all and strong enough to hold.