She is asleep.
I sit there and look at her. Her chest slowly rising and falling, her hands opening and closing, her feet twitching as she drifts into a deeper sleep. I have chores to do. But I sit here and watch my daughter, unable to move. I am mesmerized by this small being, laying peacefully in front of me. The light coming in from the window gives her hair a reddish glow. It feels like I am looking at a live painting. The beauty of this scene stuns me.
I hear the faint rumbling of an afternoon summer storm.
While I sit here, watching my daughter with tears streaming down my face, I realize that this utter love scares me. It makes me so vulnerable, so predictable.
The thunder becomes louder.
How will I be able to protect her in the world out there? How will I ever be able to let go? The thought of her getting hurt in any way makes me sick to my stomach. All of a sudden, she looks so fragile. I fight the urge to pick her up and cradle her in my arms. I tell myself she is safe. I wipe my tears.
It starts to rain.
Amelie stirs in her sleep. She rolls onto her stomach.
I sit here, wondering. Maybe I love her too much? Is there such a thing as too much love? How will I know I am not smothering her with these big feelings? I only want the best for her. But, how am I to decide what that is? The decisions I make for her are based on my judgement, my perspective. Not hers. What if I get it wrong?
It is getting dark outside. The light is gone, heavy rain thumbs softly against the window. Lightning and thunder play their game of catch.
Before me lies my daughter, still resting calmly, comfortably.
I feel this overbearing sense of responsibility on my shoulders. It takes my breath away. I suddenly feel inadequate and small. How can I possibly be worthy of raising this beautiful child? I think back to the two years of trying to become pregnant. I call her my Glueckskind, my "Lucky Child". Though it really is I, who is the lucky one.
I am trying to remember my life before she was in it. I was happy. I loved. I was loved. Yet, now that I know what it feels like to have Amelie in my life, there is this feeling of emptiness when I think back to that time before her. It makes me cringe, almost sick. How did I not notice it then? It is such a cliche, but my daughter has completed a part of me, which I didn't know existed before.
I am so grateful in this very moment, it almost feels like a cheesy Lifetime movie. But it is far from it. This is raw, unconditional love and gratitude like I have never felt it before.
The storm has passed. The rain left watery streaks on the window glass. Soon, they will be dried from the sun.
Amelie is still sleeping.