Mother

It's almost midnight. I should be asleep right now. Mazin will wake up in less than 6 hours, and I will be groggy and cranky. But I can't seem to settle down. I'm wired. I want to poke and prod him and wake him up to play with me. There is nothing like the smile on his face when he wakes from a nap. He is so beautiful, so soft, so perfect. And he changes daily--I can't believe that. His will has become quite apparent in the past few days. He reaches for things and leans in the direction of where he wants to go. He tries really, really, really hard to crawl. He gets frustrated with toys that don't fit in his mouth. He has so much to learn, but he is an expert already at loving and trusting. How fully he trusts me! How deeply he loves me. I can see it in his eyes and his smile. Sometimes now when he nurses, he will pop off the boob and just stare at me with this look of utter adoration on his face. I have NEVER been looked at like this before. It is humbling, gratifying, and terrifying all at once. And the whole world looks different to me now. I see differently, notice different things. On the plane to Sarasota a woman across the aisle was speaking very deliberately (and loudly) with a thick Russian accent to her friend. I heard pieces of the conversation, but what still rings in my ears is this: "I gave my life to my son, and now I don't talk to him." Just the thought that this could be possible--that 20 or 30 years from now this boy could turn his back on me, or that my pride could interfere with our relationship ... it's unimaginable. The bond we have now is so pure and complete. I am his mother. I am a mother. I think I am just starting to see how this has changed me, changed everything. Forever.