There is something pretty special about those first staring contests between mother and child.
Moms, you know what I am talking about. Your baby is nursing, and looking up into your eyes as if she can see right down into the heart of everything you are, and then she stops sucking and cracks a little grin. It is the kind of grin that you know you will see on her face when she’s fifteen, and just come up with something particularly clever.
How so much personality and depth of spirit can inhabit an infant, I will never know. It must have almost everything to do with God.
As I look into Kara’s eyes, still questionably hazel or brown, I know one thing.
The feeling that I have when our gazes lock is like a tiny explosion. It is pure, trusting, and innocent. It is quiet, and soft, and magnificent.
It is a feeling that can never be recreated. Not in pictures, not in videos, and not in memories. It lives here, and here only, and when the here and now are gone so is this feeling.
Yes, as our children grow, we continue to feel overwhelmed by love when we look at them, but there is something pretty special about those first staring contests between mother and child.
It is fleeting, and then gone.