Everything that came before you was just a dream.
Or did the dream start when you were born?
If someone had asked me, before I had you
I would have said, ‘I am full. It’s a full life and I am fulfilled.’
I remember those early days in Bangkok writing, 
What am I doing here trying to have these new experiences?
I have already had all the experiences. I should just go home.
Ha. I was thirty-three. What did I know.
I hadn’t met your father yet. Or Buddha. 
I hadn’t woken alone in my tiny hut surrounded by mist and mountains, 
desiring nothing.
Still, these days I catch myself inhaling,
These are the best days of my life,
my chin resting atop your head watching gulls over Professor’s Lake.
These days I catch myself exhaling,
There is no greater moment than this,
as I race alongside you on the path from the park to our home
every evening wondering if I have ever been as full
as I feel in that moment. 
I catch myself holding you closer, 
as you climb onto my lap to eat dinner.
I catch myself whispering, 
Thank you.
I will hold on to this moment.
There is a knowing that I feel,
that these years belong to us,
to me and you, 
a mother and her son.
Everything that came before you was just a dream,
perhaps,
and everything after
my dream come true.