Still amazed

Every day, my daughter amazes me...

When she was still inside my belly, her heart beating alongside my own, I was amazed by her movements. A squirm here, a kick there, the thundering whoosh-whoosh-whoosh on the Doppler.

When she was first born, freshly wrinkled and rosy red, I was amazed by her existence. I stared in wonder at her tiny fingers, wondered at how a human could be so impossibly miniature. I listened to her breathe, in and out, in and out, her bare chest against my bare chest, milk on her lips. I looked into her eyes, fell in love with her lashes, was astounded that someone who was once but a dream could do such a thing as blink.

As she’s grown, every stage of her life has brought me awe, but not in the ways I expected. The moments that I thought would blow me away were the milestones. Her first gummy grin and her first stubborn tooth. Her first wobbly steps and her first stuttered words.

But when I am older and my memories jumble together and run away from me, I don’t think those are the moments I’ll cling to.

I’ll remember her insistence on matching together her fancy summer clothes and her pink running shoes for a fun expedition in the garden with Mara.

I’ll remember her first taste of chocolate, the way she rolled the flavor around her mouth. “More!” she exclaimed. “Yummy!”

I’ll remember the look of her face covered with dirt, with sweat, as I lie beside her singing lullabies before a nap. I’ll remember the way she chimes in words and verses during each lullaby. I’ll remember climbing into bed in the evening as Pablo and I tell stories to one another about what she said or did that day.

I’ll remember the way she smells, dusty and happy, at the end of a day. The smell of adventure.

And of course, I’ll remember looking into her eyes. Falling in love with her lashes. Being astounded that someone who was once but a dream can do such a thing as blink.