Thursday, July 11, 2013
I look at the light in his eyes and see the sparkle. The tilt of his head reveals his attention to the person speaking, and the open-mouth smile is evidence of his happy demeanor. His short hair is adorable, his square little shoulders are perfect, and his unique little ears are so endearing. What makes me cry is none of this.
I raised his Mama from the age of three. We didn't have the luxury of being together from her birth, or even shortly thereafter. She moved a lot in the first three years. She didn't nuzzle into my neck at bedtime, or call "Mama" to me from a crib, or crawl in my lap as a 1-year old for a story or a song. Where was she? What did she do? How was she comforted or supported or taught?
The person at whom he is looking is his own Mama. She is calling his name with such love in her voice, with such joy in her heart, and such connection...deep, deep connection. His eyes have met hers, and he returns the love. He trusts her implicitly to watch out for him, to be there when he tumbles, to clap when he dances or plays the piano, and she never fails to deliver. She is a wonderful mother. They have their own language, filled with nicknames and cues and made-up words. She talks to me about how happy he makes her. I have never heard her say that about anyone or anything else. She has a marvelous partner in his daddy, a truly good man who loves her and loves their baby and does the right thing, time after difficult time.
The circles of life are linked. I had the joy of raising one daughter from infancy, I had the challenges-many of them joyous-of raising one daughter from toddler hood. She, however, now has the joy of raising her child from birth, and it is obvious to me from the way he looks at her, the way he is with all of us, that the time invested in attempting to make up for lost moments with his Mama was worth every second. The result is this, and what a wonderful "this" this is.
I love you, baby boy, with all my heart.