Watching.

I'm a voyeur.

I'm trying to capture every bit of my little wriggler during the day- with pictures, with film.. but sometimes I laugh because I would be infinitely making her a digital memory if I could. I have ot be honest, though- there aren't enough hours in the day, really, and I'd be missing out on these incredible moments if I had a recording device in front of my face.

I watch how she lulls herself to sleep in her cot, singing to herself.

I watch how she's grasping at things and shoving them in her mouth, as if to taste her entire new world.

I watch how intently she scans my face when I feed her, as if she wants to memorise every grey hair, every freckle, every smile line.

I watch how she swims in the bathtub and tries to talk to the rubber ducks bobbing up and down in front of her.

I watch how she looks at cartoons and giggles at the screen.

I watch her in spite of the fact that I need to rest, I need to do the laundry, the bottles, the dishwasher, the bills, the job-hunting, the cleaning.

And all this watching paid off, because right in front of me, at 3 months and 2 weeks, she turned herself onto her stomach and began to crawl. She did it with this desperately angry determination, this fiery stubbornness that she's inherited from I-have-no-idea-who. She did it despite our wood floors being slippery, despite not being able to grip her playgym mat. And though I was so close to helping her to rescue her from her cries of frustration, I sat on my hands and just cheered her on. And she did it. Again and again and again, her eyes glimmering with excitement through her angry grunts.

She knew that I was watching.


Oh, my heart.