This is not a post about God, Jesus, or seven days of work, blah blah blah. This post is devoted mainly to Margot's Mama. The other day, I was watching Margot playing with her weeble village and couldn't help but notice how perfect she is. Now when I say "perfect", I don't mean she is the end all be all of children. There are other kids out there just as cute, just as smart, and just as sweet tempered.
But they don't belong to me. I didn't make those babies. I made mine.
She is so perfect. Her little hands crease in the same places my hands crease. Her ears are mirror images of my own, just scaled down. I look into her eyes and see my own, minus the worry, grief, and responsibilities I have accumulated over the years. Those big toes that have crazy, sickle shaped nails. I wonder, someday will she be as frustrated trying to paint those as I am? I notice the most minute details about her and marvel at the fact that I had a hand in them. When I was pregnant, I doubted that my body could actually make a baby, let alone such a perfect one.
A mother's love for her child is a bond that can't be expressed in a second rate picture blog. Sometimes I wish I could chronicle these feelings for Margot so when she grows up, she can have some sort of idea about how becoming her Mama changed me. To let her know, that if she is worried about what kind of parent she will be, she is not alone. Nature will take care of the biggest part. Her amazing body will take care of the second biggest part. All that will be left for her to do is love, which will be pretty simple.