I was given two tiny people to love. They make everything that I look at more beautiful, and also more fraught with worry, more meaningful. After I became a mother flowers looked more vibrant, licking batter off of spatulas became more delicious, and small victories like tying a shoe for the first time became cause for tremendous celebration. Maybe all of this happened to me just because of age and wisdom – I’ll never know because as I aged and gained wisdom I also matured into parenting. The two strands of development are so tied up and intertwined for me that I can’t possibly tease them apart. Perhaps the most amazing thing about parenthood, to me, is that these two tiny, beautiful people also love me in a unique way that I have never been loved by anyone. There are many ways to show our love, and people show it differently using: words, food, gifts, touch, attention, and more.
The beauty of love is the theme of countless songs and films, from Bollywood to Hollywood. It cross-culture, cross-gender, cross-faith. Sometimes when I look into my children’s eyes, I feel like I could fall into their worlds of wonder. My son wants to talk to me about Pokemon – he is a huge fan and, frankly, Pokemon trivia doesn’t rank high on my priority list these days (it never did). But I listen to him and stay present for him because I love him and I want him to feel heard. My daughter wants to share rambling stories about who held whose hand today at recess and which child saved a seat for her at lunch. It is hard for me to keep track – at this age it seems she has a new, different BFF each day. I am listening to her words, but really I’m gazing at her, admiring her, feeling like an artist who created this tiny person’s brain, lips, sky blue eyes, and thick brown hair.
I am in love with them. I have something so beautiful.