I watch as the brisk night air breezes across her face and touches mine. Wrapped together in a blanket of a trillion stars I am humbled by our smallness.
As the wind beneath her perfect little nose is sucked in and ever so gently pushed back out of her slightly open lips, I lie there in complete awe of her beauty.
I examine her face and wonder if there is a single thing that could be changed to make it any better. No, that would be impossible.
As I breathe her in I am struck by her innocence. An innocence so substantial I can smell it. It’s heavy and feathery all at once.
Every breath brings her closer to six years old. Six years of love, support, comfort, simplicity. Six years without true loss or heartache. She’s yet to know what it means to yearn for a loved one or find out not everyone will care for her feelings.
Her heart is whole, her soul is wispy.
Life flutters around her and she knows no different.
As I reflect on my own life and everything my 30 years has been built upon, I can’t help but wonder what life will hand her. What lessons will she be forced to learn by the time she stares down at her own child, profoundly struck by so much innocence wrapped up in such a small perfect vessel.
As my own eyes begin to heavy, I whisper, “Be brave, be strong, be humble… and always believe that you are loved more than you could ever know.”
We just returned from essentially two weeks of camping. I spent 90% of it unplugged and completely present. Soaking in my family and friends just as much as the sun, fresh air, and crisp river water.
Nature soothes my soul. It recharges me and humbles me.
So, while I was lying next to Siena in our tent each night, I found myself constantly reflective. Reflective on my current life, my past, and my future. Asking myself what I’d like to do next with my career. How I can be a better mom, a better wife, a better me.
Within this reflection I was completely struck by the realization that Siena has this whole big huge mysterious life ahead of her. She will inevitably be faced with challenges and heart breaks and failures that I won’t see coming and most definitely won’t be able to protect her from.
This is one of the scariest, most soul wrenching things every parent faces.
But I’ve always said I will allow my child to struggle, to fail, to battle her way through anything. I will not rescue her at every turn. As difficult as that is. Because, I believe in her. I believe with every ounce of my being that she is capable of overcoming any and everything life could ever possibly have to offer her.
Watching her little body be life under that giant night sky, I saw strength and courage and fire. I have no clue what her life will be, but I know she’ll make the most of it and I know she’ll be okay.
In the meantime, I will hug her tight, feed her confidence, make sure she believes she’s worth loving and when she falls, I won’t pick her up, but instead assure her how proud she makes me every time she finds her own footing.