28 Februarie 2014

About a boy

A friend asked me recently what I like most about being a mother. I wished I could answer him with a poem, as he does me when I ask him complex questions.
But I am not so good with poems.
Yet.
And I might never be. That is ok too.

I loved the thought of being a mother, long before I even knew I loved it. Women are made to be moms. I knew no other reality.
I didn't know then how much I would love the reality of being a mom, nor how hard it would be.

It is a paradox, a constant tension. But love overcomes in the end. Love reigns supreme.

I love getting to be a part of molding a life. A pot that grows more beautiful as the wheel turns. And sometimes I miss a few turns because I was distracted by someone at the door, and when I look back, the pot is even more beautiful than I ever planned or imagined it.
Unlike a pot, I can't start over if I don't like the outcome. But I can, with infinite patience and care, straighten out the creases and push out the air bubbles.
And thank God people, even little ones, understand apologies. Unlike pots who would just... well, give a potlike stare, I guess.
I don't know pots that well.

But I know my son, and he is beautiful. He is more beautiful than any other kid I know, because he is mine. And because I know him better than any other.
And he knows me, sometimes better than I know myself. We are made to know and be known. By someone. Anyone. And what a blessing if we are able.

I love the way he smiles when he is happy. I love that he sings when he is really happy. I love his stubbornness, even though it sometimes drives me nuts. I love how, when I have his eyes, I have his heart. Even though it sometimes takes a while to get his eyes.

I love how he walks into a new place, and wanders around until he knows it, and knows that he is safe, knows where the exits are, knows where the comfortable places are. And if there are cars around, he will find them. Any size car will do.  Then he checks out what I am doing and if it looks like fun. If it is, he usually he joins me for a while, until I get lost in conversation too much. Then he goes and finds his comfortable place and parks there to wait for me.

There is so much more to say, but time and words are not enough.

And this post was supposed to be about motherhood.
But it has turned out to be about a boy.

Geen opmerkings nie: