The first thing I noticed about him were his eyes.
I’v never seen eyes like that before. The rest of his tiny
1.5 feet body disappeared behind those huge brown irises set on perfect almond
shaped eyes.
He looked at me with fully open eyes so uncharacteristic for
a new born. So quiet he was, drinking every new sight, sound and smell in of
his new world. There were no tears or fears in his eyes, only curiosity; no
wail in his mouth, only silent observation. His eyes looked like he took me all
in. I remember that I couldn’t bear the sight of his eyes, I was overwhelmed with
emotion and the first thing I said was that I did not want to see him. Because
I wanted to see him more than I have wanted anything else in the world and I
just did not know how to deal with that want.
It should be only me that saw him and I was so fiercely
jealous of all the fawning hugs and everybody drinking his tiny body in with
their own eyes before he reached me. I couldn’t get up, my wretched paralyzed Cesarean
sectioned body. I couldn’t move a muscle – because the anesthetics hadn’t worn
out or because my mind was numbed by my overwhelming emotions I do not know. I
pouted in my mind and teared up when my mother, aunt, cousins - everybody loomed
over him while bringing him to me...denying me his sight for a few seconds
longer. I was cross with everybody…and my drug addled mind had completely
forgotten the moment when the doctor had shown him to me as soon as he was born.
So I thought that all my relatives were getting a chance to see him before I
myself did.
He finally reached me and I was transfixed. I would have
remained so if I had not lost control and started crying.
The dark days of postpartum depression soon followed and I
took more and more solace from his tiny eyes. Here was one person whom I could
look at unabashedly and admire fully without being questioned. Eyes with no
judgement – eyes full of love. During his first few days in this world, sleep
became a distant impossible daydream and night and day became one fluid
continuous unending vortex.
I would sink into his
eyes asking a thousand questions to this little creature who knew nothing but
whose eyes were those of an old saint who had centuries of knowledge and wisdom
at his disposal. And then like long awaited life giving rain drops on a desert,
I would occasionally get the softest caress from his tiny fingers. This small
action would recharge the worn down batteries of my heart and would give me so
much courage, happiness and hope.
2.5 years have gone by. Now there are several more shades to
the expression in his eyes – naughtiness, petulance, anger, displeasure, pain
and most of the time, imitations of our own expressions.
But when I wake up at night and I find him in close proximity,
sometimes even on top of my chest, I see that he is up too… and in the darkness
I see his eyes gleam, looking deep into mine. The same look of wisdom and quiet
observation and all through the day when I am far away from him, those eyes
keep peeping up at me in my mind.. without warning or invitation…looking
knowingly at me…giving me courage to see the day through in the knowledge that
those eyes wait for me at home, full of nothing but love and acceptance of all
the imperfection that is me.
