Sometimes I wish I could eavesdrop on Harlow’s thoughts.
I want to glean how she observes everything around her.
I see the simplicity of her joy, but the complexity of her is growing each day.
What is she laughing at? What is she dreaming up?
What is she processing as she places her baby dolls in their cradles? As she puts down a blanket and kisses them “nigh-nigh”? Does she realize her stuffed bunny doesn’t eat breakfast?
Does she care?
When she picks out her outfits–does she realize they don’t match? Or does she like them better that way?
I love her face when she tries a new food.
How do I explain to her that kids are supposed to like chocolate milk for special treats?
She just makes a face and spits it out.
I see the way she sees people for who they are: she doesn’t notice the car, the clothes, the whatever-distracts-us-from-seeing-people-for-people-junk.
Today she held my face with both of her hands and gave me a kiss.
Does she understand what I’m saying, when I can’t stop telling her how much I love her?
When I see myself choosing to see every glass more empty than the last, each failure as an end all–I see her picking herself back up when she trips. I see her trying and trying again.
Sometimes, I just want to take a peek at the world through her eyes.