I’d like to introduce you to my favorite flower. Don’t misunderstand. Tulips are not my favorite type of flower: that’s an iris. This specific tulip is my favorite flower. My husband and I have owned our house for almost 18 years. I believe this flower came with the house, or at least I don’t remember planting it, and I don’t remember a spring when it didn’t bloom. It’s a big tulip, the flower probably four inches tall, and it can’t decide if it wants to be pink, orange, salmon or all of them at once. In a garden filled with blossoms it commands attention.
The spring before my daughter was born I remember checking on my favorite flower each morning wondering if my baby or flower would arrive first. The flower bloomed a month before my due date, and my visions of enjoying it’s beauty with my baby evaporated when it’s petals fell and I was still pregnant. Seasons, flowers and babies have their own timelines.
Now every spring I remember the anticipation, anxiety, and excitement of those last weeks of pregnancy. With my favorite flower’s arrival comes reflection on my decade of motherhood. I tell the story of the flower to my daughter, and we remember our springs together. My favorite flower makes me pause to remember and appreciate the wonder filled life I’ve been given.