This, from public::bookstore’s Tara Thayer, just about sums up my day, or week. Maybe year.
Tonight Ava fell asleep with a short-sleeved vest on and her arms were getting cold, and her nappy was getting huge, so we bit the bullet and woke her up.
I feel guilty for doing things like this to her. I hate it when people interrupt my sleep, even if I know there are logical reasons that lie behind it. I imagine how unsettling and frustrating it must be for her, how much she understands, compared to how much she simply trusts us to do these things that are bigger than her
She sat on the bed dazed, nude, dream-deep and I marveled at this little person for, probably, the thousandth time today. I rallied up what it was in this moment I loved so much – the sleepy curls at her neck, the silhouette of blonde and black peppered eyelashes against the paused TV screen, or her wide eyes grounding herself in her surroundings. Some sort of mysterious Ava-ness that she carries with her, that I too carry with me.
i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart)
Here’s what sucks, for all of us. No one can understand what it is like to love a child unless you have ever loved a child. Even remembering what it was like to be a child, to be the recipient of this love, doesn’t cut it.
It’s everywhere. It doesn’t leave me – even when I sleep it holds us together in some magic symmetry.
I don’t believe in miracles, except I do believe in Ava. I believe that the fire of life in her eyes is the best thing that I have seen or will ever see.
And I want her to know, I want her to really understand that I am always on her side. That loving her is the easy part. That I am always on her side.