Your small hand clings,unsure, its warmth in mine. The warmth of your need, juxtaposed with my being needed.
Those big brown searching eyes, like mirrors of my own, so trusting and innocent, as if they are continually seeing the world in color for the very first time, over and over.
The world excites you, you’re on a busy mission to explore every crevice, to ask every question never asked.
To wonder. Endless wondering.
I soak you up, amazed at the miracle that was placed,
just like that, into my life.
Those little arms around my neck at night.The pleas for one more story, prayer or bedtime ritual.The endless pull between my immense love for your beautiful spirit and my own need for air.
Finally, you settle in and I kiss those round cheeks goodnight and smile at how you fill the spaces in my heart with love, pure love. It just spills from your pores, my little empath, my sweet baby boy.
Awaking to this boy, no longer small.
Tall and lean, all arms and legs and feet. Those rapidly growing feet, I can’t keep up with those, they can’t be the feet of my child?
Those round cheeks and chubby wrists, replaced as if in a single breath, by curved cheekbones and an almost unrecognizable air of developing independence.
The subtle claiming of your own space in the world, separate from me, it catches me off guard.
The casual shrugs, the confused glances – the how am I supposed to act now? Like learning the steps to an intricate dance but no one to show you the steps.
The not so subtle looks of pure embarrassment at something I say or do that used to make you run to me with joy
Beautiful yearling. This gazelle-like being of the endless limbs and changing moods, a suddenly complex creature.
This fascinating mixture of child and young man.
We’re learning each other all over, times have changed. We’re practicing new rhythms, unfamiliar, but we will learn.
No longer can I keep you safe from every lurking danger out there and it bruises my heart just a little, every time I practice letting go. The fear of seeing you get hurt. The pain of hurts I’ve already inflicted on your beautiful soul.
Still, I love every piece of you.
In spite of the mumblings, the sometimes hurtful words, the slamming doors, the emotional conversations.
I know we’ll eventually figure this out, the changing roles, the letting go,the learning to trust.
The trusting, not of you, but of myself.
Have I given you enough? You, kind-hearted-sensitive boy who cares so much? Have I hurt your spirit by the things I’ve done unwittingly or the things that, being human, I have failed to do at all?
Beautiful boy, know this.
You are loved immeasurably.
You make me glad to have been gifted with you, to have the honor of being your mother.
All I see when I look at you is a beautiful young man. Becoming, striving, rebelling, feeling deeply.
But mostly loving.