They tell you babies can’t see for a few days after birth, but you could see, there was no doubt about it. You looked right passed my eyes, into my soul, deeper than anyone had ever looked. You looked at me with these furrowed brows and in that moment, all I knew were three things. I knew that your will was far stronger than mine, that you had an insatiable thirst for life, and that you were going to break me, reshape me, and teach me most of what I need to know in life. I look at your four year old face and see you as the baby I first held in my arms, but then I see a woman I’ve not even met yet, twenty years from now, still furrowing her brow, taking me back to today, and all the days before now. One day someone is going to fall madly in love with that furrowed brow, but not before your dimples…oh those dimples.
You are quick to question, quick to panic, quick to unravel. But you are quick to learn, quick to empathize, quick to feel, quick to love. So quick to love. Your very nature is quick, swift, and out of necessity you have encouraged me to slow down. There is not enough room for two of this nature, and the truth is, I like the slower me. As it turns out, I thrive in the slow, steady, mundane. I get little accomplished in the worldly sense, and I am consistently unkept, but my soul is alive and well, and enamored by your beautiful rambunctious mess, all.day.long. I have the time to notice every last detail, and the details of you are far too satisfying to overlook. This furrowed brow, it’s my favorite reminder, asking me to dig for more. What I continue to find is far too intriguing for words, but each night it absorbs into my bones, swells behind my eyes, and gives back to the one that matters most. You.