continuous awe

This is the face he makes when I say don’t smile,

reinventing me in his image

even as I cast him in mine. 

I’m no stranger to the recursion of consciousness in nowness, but parenthood, POW. So much new, again, so many times. Trailing my little not-self, delighting in the chatter, content in the quiet, our long shadows overlapping.

I am in continuous awe I can love this much, laugh this much, keep learning all my life how to teach how to live.

I love being his mom.