I recognize the self that is stroked when told my child/ren look like me. It’s comforting to observe the life my body created resembling my own. To watch as her eyes smile the way mine do or to see his face slowly taking the oval shape of mine. I love overhearing my husband call my daughter, annie, by mistake.
I am also scared to see a little girl that resembles me so closely, who observes my every step, and follows a bit too close for comfort at times. Watching as I interact with her brother, communicating in what appears unconventional, at times.
The worry lines that are slowly securing their roots along my forehead, or the frequency at which tears run along my cheeks. The expression I wear as I dress my body, the rate of my breath as I button my pants and pull my top down to cover my “secret” discomfort.
The way he sits at a distance as I blow raspberries into her multiple chins. As I enunciate the syllables that make up her name, his mouth slowly jabbers – silently. Watching as my husband and I climb to the top of our disagreement and concede – remembering we are simply worn. The patience I fail to gather up each morning as I rise from the safety of my flannel sheets.
The joy I trade for fear.
How I spend my time – where my heart resides. Are my pursuits worthy of this life? Will they matter to my children?
There is but one personal trait I would willingly pass along to my children – a heart searching for a savior. While I am certainly far from what God asks of me, I trust that there is more than all of this.
I hope the things my children learn from me are through my failures. The freedom in asking for forgiveness. The power in surrendering fleshly desires, fears… my life.
Acknowledging the satisfaction that accompanies family – one of the most important qualities I have captured from my mother.
Be careful, little eyes are watching.