This morning my children, once again, took my breath away.
It was unremarkable except that my son allowed me to apply his sunscreen. As I smeared the white goo across the bridge of his nose, I could not help but look at his long brown eyelashes and the curve of his lids. It struck me how hard we’d worked to give him sight, and the horrible months of swollen lids from surgery. I feel ownership of my children’s faces as they are smaller versions of my husbands and of mine. Every turn, every curve, every freckle is because I married the kindest, most handsome man I’ve ever met.
I wanted to stop the world and hug him for a moment. I wanted to beg him to try and understand just for one moment that I love him more wholly and completely than I’ll ever love anyone. I’ll love him and his sister with a force that they will never understand. Not until they become parents.
Instead I continued to apply sunscreen, and lamented the fact that my ten year old daughter no longer needs help with the bridge of her nose.
I’m so often alone in my bursts of Mother Love.