Sometimes I stare at you and already see the outline of the man you’re going to be.
Each beautiful and challenging version of you filling those spaces.
The photo above was taken last year at this time, before the rest of the world knew you. When you made those phantom flutters on my fingertips when I touched my belly… now a distant memory.
It’s all getting a bit quick now, seasons have changed again, and all of a sudden I don’t know if that dark hair will return or be replaced with golden curls.
Your legs even hang over my lap a bit now.
I want to remember all of you, because I’m so worried I’ll forget. I’m so quick to wipe away those hand prints on the window or the mess you leave after a meal together. So quick.
I’ve wished away the few hard days and I hate that I’ve wished away anything with you in it.
Is this how motherhood works?
Be still my heart, but get me through?
I want to tell you everything I know, carry you and guide you.
Yet somehow as your tiny finger points to things in wonder and your eyes meet mine, a paradigm shifts.
I once thought I was to show you the world, when all along you came to show me.
I am completely ordinary, yet I have been gifted this extraordinarily beautiful life with you.
It was late the other night and I was carving out your face in my mind, even though it was dark and the light creeping under the door was calling.
As I reached it I heard a soft cry again, because you wanted me to come back.
Oh the irony that one day all I’ll wish for is for you to come back to me.
“Don’t worry, it won’t always be this way”, is on repeat in my head.
Maybe a never truer, more heartbreaking word has been spoken.
words adapted and inspired by Jess Urlich’s “All I See Is You.”
Thank you for continuing to follow me on this journey. All my love.