You’re telling me that you can’t do this. The tears are welling up and that spot at the back of your neck is tensing up, that knot. I see your little body becoming rigid, and I know the place your mind is going. You tell me this is possible, but it doesn’t feel possible to me. So I must be deficient in some way. I am a failure.

I understand. It is hard. And maybe you can’t do it right now. That’s okay. You are a human being, not a “human doing”. You are not defined by what you can and can’t do; you are not the sum total of your successes and failures. You had infinite worth from the moment you were conceived; I loved you before you could do a single thing for yourself, and I will love you no matter what.

I won’t ask you to do anything that you cannot do, even though it may take some time for you to learn how. And even then I am right here beside you. You can fail a hundred times and I will never see you as a failure. How can you be a failure when the smell of your hair and the way your hands relax so completely when you’re asleep makes my heart burst with pride?

There isn’t a thing you can do to lose even a tiny shred of the ocean of love I have for you, and likewise not a thing you can do to earn it.

Littlefoot, no matter how big your feet get I will always be here for you to rest your head on. Whether it’s tracing letters or chasing your dream, when it feels impossible . . . Just breathe.