Unrelated…but where I’m at today.

I don’t normally post about being a parent outside of CityBaby Living things…but I was struck by this thought and decided to write about it.

I feel as if I know everything there is to know about my daughter. I know every freckle on her nose and forehead. I know what it looks like when she’s really sad and when she’s faking. I know what she likes and dislikes, how she’ll react to most things, what toys she loves and what it feels like when she climbs into my lap.  I can feel her soft cheeks in my imagination and her true gut busting laughter is my favorite sound in the world.

But yesterday when I made my nightly ritual of looking in at her sleeping sweetness before heading to bed myself I realized that I don’t really know her at all. For there in her head is a rich world I will only get to look at from the outside. She will become someone I can’t even imagine of right now. It struck me as so awesome that I can know someone so deeply in my soul and yet have no real idea of who she’ll be, what she’ll do and the choices that she’ll make.

When I was in high school, my mother gave me a poem that I think was written by an American Indian.  I have long since lost it and don’t remember the rest, but the one line I held onto was this: You’re children are not you. They come through you, but they are not you.

I am blessed beyond my wildest dreams that this funny, beautiful, strong little being came through me and I can not wait for the future (tomorrow, next year, and 20 years from now).

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2 Responses to Unrelated…but where I’m at today.

  1. Abby Brown says:

    On Children
    Kahlil Gibran

    Your children are not your children.
    They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
    They come through you but not from you,
    And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

    You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
    For they have their own thoughts.
    You may house their bodies but not their souls,
    For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
    which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
    You may strive to be like them,
    but seek not to make them like you.
    For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

    You are the bows from which your children
    as living arrows are sent forth.
    The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
    and He bends you with His might
    that His arrows may go swift and far.
    Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;
    For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
    so He loves also the bow that is stable.

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