Tonight I held you close to my chest. You had been happily snuggled into my ring sling most of the evening. It was the only place you were happy, which is very unusual for you. I think you had a stomach ache, and you were fussy (and you are never fussy), but as soon as I put you into the ring sling, you were absolutely content. I get so used to your presence there. I am aware of you, and yet unaware somehow. I will stop and kiss your fuzzy round head or touch your soft, squishy feet, and surprise myself with your closeness. That you could be there, almost unnoticed, so beautiful and perfect–it’s hard to believe…That this small creature with working eyes and cherry-red lips who breathes and blinks and swivels his head from side to side is real. You are too precious, too marvelous and amazing and delicate and sweet to believe. The innocence in your sweet smile, the way it lights up your face…the beauty in the slow blink of your beautiful round eyes as you take me in…it’s almost too much beauty for me to handle. Tonight your grandmother held you and I saw you look for me, and saw your eyes lock onto my face when you found me, and I was taken aback. All at once the enormity of what it means to be your mother, your safe place, your home, it all came rushing to me and made my head spin. Am I that safe place? Could I be? On days when I feel so lost myself, the idea that I serve as an anchor for your small life seems overwhelming. I’m not sure I have grown up enough to be your adult, grown-up mother. I certainly don’t have it all figured out, which I don’t want you to know, because that seems very scary for a small child. So I live from minute to minute, trying to soak it all in.
I love you, my boy.