There is a giant living in my house.

I don’t know why, though. It’s like she’s always been here with us, and right before you ask, yes, our giant is a girl-giant. She’s always patting my head when I sit down for breakfast, she’s always asking about my day when I come home from school.

I love my giant to death.

Sometimes she tries to pretend she’s not a giant, though. She sits on the floor and raises me to the dinning table, so he’s smaller than me, and rests her tired giant head in my lap, purring like a cat just asking to be petted.

I run my hands through her hair, so soft, and tell her about my day while she closes her eyes and pretends to listen.

I know she doesn’t.

Not because she doesn’t care, but because giants don’t understand how humans work, so she won’t ever understand my feelings. I tell her nonetheless, and giggle when she tells me about her own day, battling other giants and holding mountains in her enormous shoulders.

“Sounds tiring,” I say softly, afraid I might scare her back into the forest
She grunts a little, and kisses my knee. She always kisses me randomly.

I let her.

Giants like to kiss and pet children, I like being her special child. I love the way she dresses me every morning and how small my hands seem compared to hers when I try to help her.

“I’m a big girl now!” I tell her. “I can do it!”

She just grunts affectionately and swats my hands away. She knows I can never get my tie right, nor can I tie my shoe lazes.

At night she tucks me into bed and turns off the light, but I never fall asleep immediately. She doesn’t know it but I’m afraid of the dark, so I usually crawls to her still lit cave and stare at her until I am about to pass out from exhaustion.

She is very different at night. And maybe that’s why she tucks me in so early.

At night she shrinks and is not a giant anymore. She’s so small then, even smaller than me. And she looks so tired, so pretty.

At night my giant turns into a butterfly.

At first I felt betrayed, she had lied to me. But then I understood she didn’t want to scare me, she knows I love her as a giant, and maybe is afraid I wouldn’t like her butterfly self.

How silly my giant is.

I decide then that I’ll help my giant silently. And buy new shoes for school, with a velcro strap. That way, she doesn’t have to crunch down so low to tie my shoe laces. Also my feet are getting a little too big for my old shoes. I’ve also sown my tie together, that way she doesn’t have to fix it each morning.

She growls a little, not liking the sudden change. I just smile.

Giants certainly don’t like change at all.

Or maybe my giant doesn’t like me that much?

Other giants show off their special children proudly, almost bragging to eachother. My giant likes to hide me behind herself, she doesn’t like that other giants see me. When she does that I feel so sad, I cry sometimes, but I don’t complain. I really don’t want to scare her away.

One day, she hols my leg as I’m about to go to school and tugs my skirt a little down, frowning.

I blink confusedly. I hadn’t realized it was so short at the time. Or that her hand that could curl around my waist is getting thinner.

She lowers her head and lands it on my shoulder, her strong arms around my back.

We both say nothing.

But there is definitely something wrong with my giant and myself.

She kisses me and pats my head, and off she goes to hold mountains over her head and brag to other giants like always.

I don’t go to school. I’m worried.

I slip into her secret cave, the one only giants are allowed to.

And I see her laying there. So very fragile in all her giant-ness.

The walls are full of little trinkets I’ve given her over the years and she runs her hands over them longingly.

I walk to her.

And realize we’re eye to eye to eachother.

“And you’ll continue to grow...” she says as she notices my surprise. “And you’ll be the giant then and walk away from me, to get your own children to care for... until that child leaves you and you weaken like me.”

I wrap my arms around her frame, how come I never realized she was so small? And run my hand over her rugged shoulders. How many mountains you held over these shoulders, my dearest giant?

Such a heavy job.

I kiss her cheek then and walk her back home. With each step I grow taller, stronger, and she grows smaller, thinner, weaker.

“No more secret caves,” I say firmly. But she is now a little butterfly and cannot understand me. Idly I remember a butterfly that was around us during my childhood. It makes sense now.

I tuck her into bed and run my hands over her hair just once more. She smiles tiredly.

Off I go to hold my own mountains, to brag to other giants like myself.

Maybe I’ll find a child of my own to love one day. But for now the sun is going down and I have much to do.

“Good night,” she whispered as she falls asleep.

“Good night, mommy,” I sigh back, and leave one light on, just in case she’s as scared of the dark as I was.