I love you, little boy

If the kisses and cuddles and constant "I love you"s are not enough, here is a quasi-public declaration:

I love you so much, little boy. 

When I drop you at daycare and the tears erupt, I daily question why I choose to spend those 8 hours away from you. While I work I am watching you from the sky cam, laughing at your gestures and antics. When I get up from my desk to use the toilet, I imagine you running away from your potty seat. When I return, I see you in my mind's eye stationed at the windowsill watching the trucks in the parking lot. You're on my mind all the time. 

This morning you took your little bowl of kiwi slices and placed it on your baseball tee, gave it a whack with your bat, and sent the pieces flying. You looked to me immediately, searching for a reaction. I hate wasted food, I am not thrilled that throwing food on the ground is your new favorite hobby, but in that moment I felt joy--my baby is trying new things and he wants to see what I think of it. 

It is such a gift to be the witness to all your joy and wonder and silliness and discovery. It is such a fearsome responsibility to be your teacher and your caretaker and your guide. I pray every day for enough gratitude, wisdom, and stewardship to be the mother you deserve. 

I love you so much, little boy. 

Most of the time I love my job. On Friday, I signed off for the weekend with a feeling of great satisfaction. Big progress on three big projects. One of those projects, an automatic stay of removal for a deeply sympathetic case. I worked efficiently, effectively, and purposefully. 

So why, then, signing on again after the long weekend, am I filled with dread? Fear that my motion to reopen will be denied and my sympathetic case deported after all? Fear that I didn't do enough for my other two projects? Sadness at the politically motivated firing of 20 immigration judges, including the chief immigration judge at our local court? 

Many times I cope with the stress of the high stakes of my job by telling myself that I am mostly trying to do damage control from my client's prior bad decisions. The system is unjust, it's true, but with the detained population, there were a few bad choices that brought my clients into the auspices of the system. It doesn't mean they deserve what's happening, but it does mean that they understand, we all understand, it won't be a shock if things don't work out the way that we want. 

I know that's not right. 

And it makes coping even harder when I have a client with no "excuse" to serve as the origin for their unfortunate position, only the bald reality of a unfair, racist, and deeply broken system. 

It is a gift to be in a position to be raging against the machine. To be on the beach throwing to throw starfish back into the ocean. But there are still moments when I want to look away.