One Month

One month ago he had steel blue eyes, the color of dark clouds that hold the horizon. Now a soft glow burns behind the gray like the rays of the sun cascading down touching the skin on my cheeks. Is that because his world is coming into focus and he’s seeing me for the first time? I wonder what color his eyes will be two months, six months, a year, ten years from now. People always mention time and how it disappears when children invade your life. That may be true, but not always—not with everyone. I know this because I’ve seen the way his feet have grown through his socks, the way his head fills his bear cap. I think that time exists within him. He is time, pulling us back to the delight inside the heart of learning how to breathe, learning how to see and hear and touch and fart and scream and grin and grow. It’s beautiful to watch it in such a natural way, to see it happen before your eyes without effort; it touches you deep down.

Something I’ve learned to appreciate this past month with my son—he’s an ember that will blossom into a shining blaze that will grace this earth. We all were this ember once before and we still are because we still have time, we rest in its comfortable shell and float upon its shoulders and get to experience life. There’s nothing more precious than that and nothing more fortunate than being able to grasp such clarity even for a tiny second. Sometimes when I look at him he helps me understand. I see the beauty of what is, what has been and what will be.

A month ago he had dark hair and everyone said he looked like me. Today blond-red fuzz sits atop his head and I see more of Christina in him every day. He’s one month old and I am one of the luckiest people alive.