By being so close to my son, by being so preoccupied with all the details of his daily life--am I perhaps the person least likely to witness and understand the development of his soul? That mysterious process whereby he becomes uniquely himself and no other? Or, more than that--that process whereby he will reach beyond himself, and touch the world in some profound way?
As a mother, I worry so intensely about his coughs, his cries, his sleeping, his bodily functions of all kinds, and I marvel so intensely at his little gestures and words, his smile, his delighted laugh, his frowns of concentration--everything, in fact--but just because of this, am I not in danger of ignoring, or even stifling, that part of him that must develop underground, secretly, hidden from everyone?
When I go to him in the morning and he's already standing up in his crib, holding onto the side and gazing at the door anxiously, when I see his quick smile then feel his soft, chubby cheek against mine as I lift him to me--perhaps then, I do feel his secret, innermost self, for just a moment. But I know that as a mother, I'll never have full access to it. Well, I suppose no one will--we are all lonely creatures, in essence...but perhaps this is what being a mother is: no one will ever want to understand his soul more than I do, and no one poses more of a threat to it than I do.
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