Posted on | August 11, 2011 | 14 Comments
This morning, J woke up and snuggled close to me. Before he opened his eyes, he popped out his pacifier and whispered:
“I love you, Momma!”
He knew it was me. He knew, just because he woke up in the morning that I would be there and that I loved him.
In J’s eyes, I am the superhero I always wanted to be. To him, I am tall and strong and able to fix anything, even broken bones. To him, I always look nice, even in my pajamas with sleep-deprived eyes. To him, the time I spend putting on make up and blow drying my hair is just wasted time that he can’t use to climb up on my lap and snuggle while having a cup of juice and breakfast.
I am perfect.
I am the best mother he’s ever had.
I’m the mother he’s always wanted.
I’m the only mother he’s ever had.
Wouldn’t it be nice if we could see ourselves through our toddler’s eyes? Wouldn’t it be nice if, just for a day, we could view ourselves the way the person who loves us the most does?
I bet I wouldn’t notice the extra weight I’m carrying or that my nose is too big for my face. And I probably wouldn’t notice that the bottom side of my hair always flips the wrong way out. I wonder if I’d even notice the scar on my abdomen or the bug bites on my legs.
And more than that, I wonder if maybe I WOULD notice those things, but I would love them anyway because they are what makes me me.
J loves me because I am his mother. He loves me because I am the most perfect incarnation of love he’s ever known… not because I’m perfect, not by a long shot… but because I’m his mother.
I’d like to think I will always be worthy of that kind of love. I’d like to think I will never let him down, never disappoint him, and never tarnish the image he has of his mother… but I know that I will. I know that as he grows up and becomes more aware of what is considered “perfect” in this world, the more he will find me lacking.
And though that is, of course, how it should be… the thought still makes me sad.
There is something immensely powerful about knowing that someone on this planet sees you the way you wish you were. It is empowering. It is encouraging. It is a reminder that maybe we CAN be that person, some day. I know my days are numbered as the superhero in J’s life. I know that one day I will wake up and not see a perfect reflection of myself, un-marred by flaws, in his eyes.
So for now, I’m going to do my best to live up to his version of me.
I’m going to work really hard to be the person my son sees.
Because ultimately? That’s the me I ought to be.