So much, in so little...

Sometimes I look down at Brighton and I see the shadows of me buried in his features. I feel such pleasure when someone says he looks like me, as if the statement is a confirmation of my bloodline, the affirmation of my life’s work in creating that wonderful little man. His eyes are the same soft brown, which he will come to hate for the perceived ordinariness of them. His nose turns up just slightly at the end, and his ears are small and close to the head just as mine are. His mouth is the same as mine, the same full lips and heart shaped pout that wouldn’t look right at all on a little boy if he didn’t smile so much, if it wasn’t balanced with the dimple in his cheek that steals your heart when you see it. His expressions mimic my own, and his tendency to parrot my phrasing is both endearing and frightening (I’m sure that is going to come around and bite me one of these days) at the same time. He is me when I was his age; my childhood photos appear to be him with a horrible perm-ed wig on. The sense of pride and accomplishment I feel when I see and think these things… it is unmatched.

I wonder if my parents think the same thing when they look at me. I don’t often feel as if I mirror my mother much physically, other than being horrifically short. But as I have gotten older I act like her, we say the same things, think the same way. We have the same tastes and pleasures and this provides me with more comfort than a mirror image ever would – it has provided me with a friend too. I got my coloring from my father, and my eyes, my hair are his fault. I like to think I got his assertiveness and intelligence, though they both are complete smart asses. I don’t know which one I owe the most for that. Both of them are quiet (I’m not) and reserved (pretty sure I’m not that either) but once you get to know them they are loyal and trusting, but not to a fault. I’m absolutely sure I’m those.

As Mother’s Day draws near, and Father’s Day is just around the bend… I am grateful I still have them both in my life. I am grateful I am able to be a mother and have one to turn to when I am feeling lost and alone. I am grateful to have a father I can call to fix things or build a wall or give me sage advice (whether I want to hear it or not). I am grateful for the relationships we are given, that we maintain, that we take for granted or don’t realize until something terrible happens and are given a blessed second chance to take full advantage of that person in our life. I am grateful I have someone special to lean on when I need it.

And I am so grateful my wonderful son doesn’t seem to be too much like me just yet, as his joy and his innocence will be sorely missed. But he already rolls his eyes and sighs the endless-long-suffering sigh we all know translates to “moooooom, knock it off.”