"You have your mother's eyes."
That's a phrase Harry Potter heard way too many times in his life. #littleBabyHergett is only 7 months old and he has already heard it at least as many times as Harry by book 5. He has my eyes. He does. I love it. I really do.
Until I remember what happened to Harry and to Lilly - Harry, who had his mother's eyes.
You see, the moment I became a mom, every single little thing that I see or read about becomes a probable outcome for my child. Commercials about starving little children make me thing about the possibility of my own child starving, and to what extents I would personally go to try to avoid him from ever feeling even the slightest bit of hunger. I'm typing with one finger, because my right hand is holding a bottle to his mouth right now. Movies with kids not getting birthday or christmas presents, and their sad little faces and their tiny teary eyes, make me cry while crafting the most intricate list of possible gifts for a child who has just learned to roll over... like, we already know what car he will be getting when he's 18. Because I exaggerate like that.
But, do you see where this is going? Lilly Potter also thought about all these things when she saw her eyes in little Harry. I don't know what kind of cable company she had up there in Godric's Hollow, but surely the magical world knew about the starving muggles. When she saw her eyes in Harry, she envisioned, just like I do, a world in which she would take care of Harry forever. A world in which she would feed him every day (even during those terrible years when toddlers become picky eaters), in which she would battle over how many presents to buy him for his birthday and for christmas. A world in which the greatest "problem" Harry should every face would be a broken heart. Lilly wanted to be there for it all, just like I want to be there for it all.
But Lilly died.
She died trying to protect her son, that's true. But she died. She died and she was not there for Harry. Harry, who has his mother's eyes.
#littleBabyHergett has his mother's eyes. He has my eyes. And I want to be able to stare into those eyes always, every day, for the rest of my life - and I hope that my life is long enough for me to be able to feed him every time he is hungry (even at 2 and 4 am...), to see his delighted face when he gets the birthday and christmas present he so wished for, to hug him when his heart is broken for the first time. I want to be there. Through it all. For it all. And I want to laugh with him and cry with him and fear for him when he decides to go to Thailand...
If it means for him to grow up and no longer have my eyes - if that means that I will be able to grow old and watch him grow up, then he can have his own eyes. Or his father's eyes. Because I don't want to be Lilly Potter. I don't want him to be my little Harry Potter. I'm happy with my little muggle, muggle-born baby.
That's a phrase Harry Potter heard way too many times in his life. #littleBabyHergett is only 7 months old and he has already heard it at least as many times as Harry by book 5. He has my eyes. He does. I love it. I really do.
Until I remember what happened to Harry and to Lilly - Harry, who had his mother's eyes.
You see, the moment I became a mom, every single little thing that I see or read about becomes a probable outcome for my child. Commercials about starving little children make me thing about the possibility of my own child starving, and to what extents I would personally go to try to avoid him from ever feeling even the slightest bit of hunger. I'm typing with one finger, because my right hand is holding a bottle to his mouth right now. Movies with kids not getting birthday or christmas presents, and their sad little faces and their tiny teary eyes, make me cry while crafting the most intricate list of possible gifts for a child who has just learned to roll over... like, we already know what car he will be getting when he's 18. Because I exaggerate like that.
But, do you see where this is going? Lilly Potter also thought about all these things when she saw her eyes in little Harry. I don't know what kind of cable company she had up there in Godric's Hollow, but surely the magical world knew about the starving muggles. When she saw her eyes in Harry, she envisioned, just like I do, a world in which she would take care of Harry forever. A world in which she would feed him every day (even during those terrible years when toddlers become picky eaters), in which she would battle over how many presents to buy him for his birthday and for christmas. A world in which the greatest "problem" Harry should every face would be a broken heart. Lilly wanted to be there for it all, just like I want to be there for it all.
But Lilly died.
She died trying to protect her son, that's true. But she died. She died and she was not there for Harry. Harry, who has his mother's eyes.
#littleBabyHergett has his mother's eyes. He has my eyes. And I want to be able to stare into those eyes always, every day, for the rest of my life - and I hope that my life is long enough for me to be able to feed him every time he is hungry (even at 2 and 4 am...), to see his delighted face when he gets the birthday and christmas present he so wished for, to hug him when his heart is broken for the first time. I want to be there. Through it all. For it all. And I want to laugh with him and cry with him and fear for him when he decides to go to Thailand...
If it means for him to grow up and no longer have my eyes - if that means that I will be able to grow old and watch him grow up, then he can have his own eyes. Or his father's eyes. Because I don't want to be Lilly Potter. I don't want him to be my little Harry Potter. I'm happy with my little muggle, muggle-born baby.
Natalya... que historia, que detalle, que "tu". Me encantó.
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