her big eyes
I sit on the couch, Christmas tree lights shining from the corner, and the gentle breaths and cooing of my little one across my lap. It's time for her to go to bed but her wide, bright, shining eyes stare up at me.
She is usually fidgeting and kicking her legs when she's this awake, but tonight she just looks up at me after she has played for a few minutes. I pull her closer in a cradle and stare down, and it finally registers with me that her eyes really are as big as everybody keeps saying they are. They seem huge, they seem ready to swallow me in their midnight blue, in their shining innocence, yet complete trust and wisdom. She absolutely seems to know what I'm thinking and feeling, that I'm wondering how much I can completely love such a small person who I've known for only a few months. She seems to know that I'm looking at her with the wonder of a mother hoping to share every part of adoration and hope and light I want her to feel from me and learn from me.
Her eyes hold more in them than anything I could ever portray, and it means more than anything that I can look at them and she will look back and just hold that stare so that I know she loves me back. Sometimes I feel like I'm not doing enough like I could never do enough, or that I am just somebody entirely ordinary trying to do something that will be impossible—be the best mother to this new human. But those eyes tell me that I am enough and that is better than anything anyone else could tell me about this scary job I have decided to take on.
Being a mother is hard, but being a mother to such a special soul is incredible and unbelievably fulfilling. I could never have known before what this was to be so much to another person, to have and hold a person who is just another part of me, literally. Now I know, and that means everything.
She is usually fidgeting and kicking her legs when she's this awake, but tonight she just looks up at me after she has played for a few minutes. I pull her closer in a cradle and stare down, and it finally registers with me that her eyes really are as big as everybody keeps saying they are. They seem huge, they seem ready to swallow me in their midnight blue, in their shining innocence, yet complete trust and wisdom. She absolutely seems to know what I'm thinking and feeling, that I'm wondering how much I can completely love such a small person who I've known for only a few months. She seems to know that I'm looking at her with the wonder of a mother hoping to share every part of adoration and hope and light I want her to feel from me and learn from me.
Her eyes hold more in them than anything I could ever portray, and it means more than anything that I can look at them and she will look back and just hold that stare so that I know she loves me back. Sometimes I feel like I'm not doing enough like I could never do enough, or that I am just somebody entirely ordinary trying to do something that will be impossible—be the best mother to this new human. But those eyes tell me that I am enough and that is better than anything anyone else could tell me about this scary job I have decided to take on.
Being a mother is hard, but being a mother to such a special soul is incredible and unbelievably fulfilling. I could never have known before what this was to be so much to another person, to have and hold a person who is just another part of me, literally. Now I know, and that means everything.
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