By Megan Miller-Oteri
My son is sleeping on my husband’s chest. Snuggled in an O against his broad shoulders in a snuggly nest. Resting easy, gently. I want my son to wake up because I haven’t seen him this morning. My husband let me sleep in this because I stayed up late last night writing and working on grad school work. I woke refreshed and awake, not my usual still-feel-like-I-need-two-more-hours-of-sleep-grogginess. Dare I say refreshed. Yes, I was refreshed.
As I walked by my two darlings, my husband was singing a song and waving me off – as in, Go away! So you don’t wake the boy. He is almost asleep. I went to the kitchen to get my breakfast and make coffee. I toasted two slices of cinnamon raisin bread and slowly buttered it, taking my time. I put my son’s toys in the basket that I washed yesterday, placing them in, like an organizer would, quite a difference than their daily throw it in the basket routine. I did some laundry, changing over a load in the washer to the dryer and taking the dried clothes out of the laundry room. That load is in the kitchen. Still.
I am wanting my little one to wake up. I miss his little face, his little body. His tiny little shoulders – how they’ve grown — yet he is still so tiny.
I can hold his hand now and it makes me giddy, my hands and long fingers inter-twined with his little mini fingers that will grasp so many tangible and intangible things in his lifetime. He will hold the hand of the woman he will marry with those hands. He will hold the hand of the woman who will break his heart with those hands. He will hold a pencil to take the SATs with those hands. He will hold that same pencil in his hand, as he may struggle in college. He will hold the crayon that he writes his name with for the first time with those hands. God forbid, he may hold a beer in those hands in college. For now, those little hands give me glee. Give me goose bumps — how beautiful they are. How magnetic they are — drawing me to them, as my eyes are magnetized — heart pulling me closer every day to this new and joyful love of mother and son.
My husband and my son are in the same room as I write this, their chests breathing in and out together in unison. The same hearts, bonded with mine. Love is an amazing thing. It isn’t always flood lights and fireworks, shining brightly above a star filled sky, with fiery, colored flames sparkling down and dropping into a scenic river or lake. Sometimes it is blurry, like a rainstorm and the windshield wipers aren’t working or better yet, are jammed. And you can’t see a thing and have road rage because you’re stuck in the clogged, congestion of life’s freeway, with people honking at you to hurry up. But sometimes, just sometimes, not all the time — it is pure magic.
It stops you dead in your tracks, as if alone in a white fluffy filled forest, frosted with elegance, whistles at you, and shouts its name. Stitching — beating — breathing — beating — breathing heart murmurs all over your sky filled soul. You sit on a lawn, with a blanket below your knees. Hot warm, summer skin, dark sky, filled sky, stars bright and plump like ripe apples, and wonder, working willfully, scattering wisdom and love across your own family sky.
memomuse (Megan Elizabeth Miller-Oteri) believes in magic, especially magic in words. She is a mama, poet, writer, and photographer living in Eastern North Carolina. She is a graduate student in the MA in Creative Writing program at East Carolina University. You can view her magic in words at this website: www.memomuse.wordpress.com.
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Great Story!
Christina,
Thanks darling. You inspire me to keep writing. And always my first draft reader. XOXO
Brilliant depiction of love for a child. No it isn’t always fireworks and sparkles. Sometimes it’s dull and blurry like a windshield in a rainstorm. Lovely piece on motherhood!
Debra,
Thank you for your thoughtful comment. I think you should submit to Mamalode. You have helped me unstick the stuck wind shield wiper many a time — I will never forget your kind, calm voice when I called you engorged and crying, not knowing I was engorged, and you said, “You’re engorged honey, you need to pump.” Ah those first scary stormswept days of newborn Benjamin and new new new motherhood.
Aww Meg, I love you!
The joys of motherhood. You described it well….. and the love radiated through your words
Yogasavy,
Thank you for your sweet comments. Your warmth radiates right back to me.
This was a treat to read – I almost had tears in my eyes. I am totally with you in your emotions. It actually felt like I was talking – the “hands” part was so awesome! My daughter is at that age also. Thanks!
Kriti,
It goes by so fast. I swear he grew just tonight. And what a compliment – to bring a reader to almost tears. Thank you. I got one of those kits for a baby gift where you do handprints with the special ink and then frame it. Well, I missed the boat while I was out on the stormy sea of new mamahood and the handprint was too big for the paper. I will never give a baby book or one of those hand print/footprint kits – too much going on to get that stuff done. I wonder how other mamas feel about “the baby book”?? I am awful with recording the milestone dates.
A mother’s love is pure magic… loved your post
Debbie,
Thanks for commenting and if I think this is Debbie from W.G. – thanks for sending the link onto the staff at W.G. I miss everyone so much. It is pure magic and there is no other way to describe it.
Sorry Debbie – another Debbie.
Pure magic – yes indeed. It multiples with each day too.
Beautifully said. I had a lump in the throat. To walk into the shops or anywhere with my daughters hand in mine brings so much joy and love.
Loved it thanks
A
A,
Walking hand in hand heart in heart…
Wonderful…. and so that’s why I’ve always wanted to become a parent to experience this kind of joy…. thanks for sharing….:) Loved it…:)
Jorie,
I know it sounds so cliche, but it is true and the joy comes from such a pure organic place. Our son is a miracle child. We struggled with infertility for years. I know when you experience motherhood you will be a wonderful mother. Thanks for your thoughtful comment.
Beautiful and very touching. I have a son who is 17 now and I can identify with your post. Absolutely loved it.
Rimly,
I am so glad I could bring back some dear memories for you. I imagine it seems like yesterday your son was small enough to hold in your arms and snuggle up with. The cliche it goes so fast is so true. My son is almost one year and I am so sad about this and so excited at the same time. I feel frozen in joy, not wanting any more time to fly by. Wanting to capture every single second. Thank you for coming by and commenting.
memomuse!
Love is indeed an amazing thing. I adore that paragraph.
Thanks Mama Digs,
I was so excited to get a “!” from YOU – the queen of beautiful blogging. You are an inspiration.
A wonderful way to share your new world with us.
Ellie,
Thank you for your comment. This new world is blossoming and I have been able to see the flowers peak with each season. And it amazes me how fast it goes. With each milestone, there is a flowering tree that takes my breath away like my son does and then before I know it the peace tree blossoms are gone, their petals on the green grass and Ben is no longer just crawling, he is pulling up.
It’s the simple moments that life offers that brings awareness of the divine and the true beauty of the blessings around us. As seen with your son and husband blissfully sleeping in one another’s embrace. Beautiful.Thank you for sharing.
Jessica,
Thank you for your thoughtful and insightful comment. It is the simple moments that retain the most beauty.