The second photo is just the first photo zoomed in. There I am, in my scarf and hoody, taking his picture.
Camping at South Llano State Park this past weekend. It was a sweltering eighty-five plus degrees in the afternoon sun, and a nippy forty-seven degrees overnight. Jax slept in the middle of our queen size air mattress, in double-layered pajamas, mittens, and this hat. We pulled the covers up tight and tucked them in around us, and were warm.
Until the morning time arrived, and Jax decided it was time for us all to wake up. And it was still fifty degrees out, and you didn't want to be anywhere except cuddled under the covers. So I broke my no-screen-time-for-babies rule and played various baby games on my iPhone for him, to keep him under the warm covers with us for another thirty minutes.
Then we would get up and put on as many layers of clothing as we had brought with us (I think I counted seven layers on my upper body at one point). Our noses and cheeks would be bright pink from the cold as we made a run to the bathroom and started getting supplies out for a hot breakfast, tea, and coffee. I put a thick jacket on the baby, with one more furry hood around his ears, even though he seemed oblivious to the cold.
Then we'd go for a short drive, and come back and park in our campsite driveway. He'd take an hour and a half nap in his new car seat while we ate breakfast and made goals for the coming year. The car was parked just feet away from our picnic table, so we could leave the doors open, seeing and hearing him from where we sat, while the sun rose and slowly warmed up the day.
And by the time he woke, we had been stripping off our layers one by one. In another hour, we'd be changed into tee shirts and shorts and crocs, and the tent would be too hot to nap, instead of the frigid, biting cold it was at night. I guess a forty-degree-per-day change will do that to you.
Back to the eyes....
I love how babies and small children haven't learned to respectfully look away when they catch your gaze. So you can just stare into their eyes. Like you're staring into their soul. Jax's soul-filled eyes are almost always calm and peaceful, twinkling with a glimmer of a smile even when he's serious.
Ever since he was old enough to look into my face, we have spent time each day just looking. Exchanging deep, long, unashamed gazes. Listening and speaking without sound. Exchanging hearts full of love. Sharing peace. Understanding things we have no way to communicate to each other.
The older he gets, the more I realize how emotionally intuitive he is. When I'm frustrated or irritable, he cries more frequently, and seems to need me more. When I'm distressed, he fusses and squirms. Especially if it's like today, where we are home from camping, and even though daylight savings is a the cause, I'm still frustrated with him for waking up at 4:30 a.m. and refusing to go back to sleep. And I can hardly keep my eyes open, and I know to expect a day of troubled naps. I'm exhausted; he's exhausted. And he's not just fussy because he's tired. He's fussy because he knows I'm fussy. So I reach over and stroke his belly and back, tickling him just a little. And he giggles and smiles. He knows all is well with the world. And mom isn't mad at him anymore. So everything will be okay. And he stops being fussy.
I know he sees it all in my eyes.
What I know he sometimes sees there isn't the person I want to be.
I want him to see strength, and a deep, calm peace. And joy and delight. And praise and worship. And hope with expectation. Eyes that have deep roots. A soul that has a True foundation.
He makes me want to become the person I'm supposed to be.
