Baby, I Can See Your Halo

I won't forget how the sun touched your hair that day; or the way the light shone out of your perfect, ancient eyes. You waited so patiently for me to capture your likeness in the kitchen. Standing tall and still, you didn't move as I committed your  two-year-old beauty to memory. 

I can't see your halo in the picture, but I know it's there.

I can feel the light of your presence everywhere.

It’s in your discarded toys, the keys I find hidden in the couch. The books scattered around your room. Your quiet heart that says so much.
 
Angel face, moments of grace dip into the everyday whenever we’re together.

I love you even when you're an angry duck, even when you raise my blood pressure.
 
I make motherhood up as I go, navigating scrapes and play dates. You learn and grow, absorbing all life’s little joys and its blows.
 
This interlude will only last so long, I know. It’s a comfort on difficult days; a worry when you demand I sing “You Are My Sunshine” for the tenth time.
 
I count my blessings as you count your toy cars.
 
I watch you throw ping pong balls around the house and stuff mini penguins in your pockets. I see the way you roughhouse with your Papa at the end of each day, giving us all the gift of laughter before bed.
 
And I marvel at the mind that dreamed all of this into existence.

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