I spend a lot of time staring at her.
For practical reasons – feeding, changing, bathing, checking.
Some more anxious. I count her breaths. Are there too many? Is she pulling? Why did she sneeze? She has the hiccups again.
I stare at her to remember her. She’s already gained over a pound. She’s filling out and her features are changing, her skin is different, and there is already less hair than yesterday.
And sometimes I stare at her and I wonder who this is. This tiny person that eats all the time, whose coloring is entirely different from my own. I look at her and I say, “Who ARE you?”
And she opens her blue eyes and there is recognition in them. She looks back into mine and she knows I am her mommy. She sighs and closes her eyes again.
I hold her close and I whisper, “You are mine.”