I'm not used to molding these thoughts of mine into words anymore, and, to be frank, it pisses me off. Can't I just be that writer-girl again? Why does telling you a story about the magical moment I had today watching my twelve-year-old son be enamored and charmed by my sleeping almost three-year-old daughter feel like I'm wrestling a mountain goat?
It was this beautiful moment. I had these thoughts, watching him, about the wonder and mystery of seeing your child for the first time.
I could see, as I so often do, the man that this boy will become. But this time, I saw not only his physical appearance, but also the fierce qualities that he possesses tamed and tempered by some tiny human that will come into his life and change it forever. I saw him as a daddy as he, smiling to himself, watched the prostrate and snoozing Brynja.
He stroked her face with his finger and he'd laugh to himself as she shook off his attentions while remaining asleep. He must have shifted her into some other phase of her sleep cycle because she started stirring and he tilted his head in admiration as she reached around blindly trying to find her binky. At this point I shooed him away because I was not ready for her to wake yet. He moved back a yard or so and watched her with a moony-eyed look on his face as she fell back into a deeper place of sleep.
It was so darling, and I felt like I caught a glimpse of his future. I seem to be doing that a lot lately as I watch him moving through this world, living these brief moments of his life. It catches me off guard and I stand in wonder of who this man-child is at a soul level and who he is becoming.
He is beautiful, this boy of mine.
Mac with his new cousin, July 4, 2012.
Mac, Nov. 2, 2012
And... I did it. I wrote about my moment.
Maybe I just had to get pissed off enough to pull down some of those walls.