The other day, I was at a restaurant and a little boy passed me. He was probably five and he wore a Cubs baseball hat, which was the first thing that caught my attention--Go Cubbies!. Something about him, though, further captured my interest and tugged at my heart. I smiled at him.
He turned his head and smiled back.
This little boy offered a futuristic glace at my now two-year-old Henry. In this instant, my mind flooded with thoughts of my young, sweet boy. This poignant smile exchange unearthed an onslaught of memories—and possible future moments. Will Henry smile warmly at motherly women in restaurants? Will he respect his lineage and cheer for the Cubs? What subjects will captivate him in school? Which friends will he endear to him? Will he always like broccoli? How will his heart break for the first time? Who will heal it?
When he is 22 years old, I know that his childhood will seem just like that—an instant. As if we were carabineered to a zip line, coursing through the years.
I am so in love with my son—with his personality, with his past and with his future possibilities. His round, inquisitive face enables him to pick up my soul and tuck it into his pocket, where I can travel safely through this life with him. With this, I surrender to the guttural, maternal love I am so lucky to experience.
Thank you, Henry. I love you.