To mother an infant is to have your own personal fan club.
Sitting next to Cooper, I read the meaning of adoration in his eyes. He looks at me expectantly, waiting for me to look back at him. And once I do, he grins happily–so delighted that the one he loves is there.
As our foursome takes an evening walk around the neighborhood, Cooper fusses. Stephen stops the stroller, and I take Coop’s hand and look him in the eyes. “Mommy’s here. You’re okay,” I tell him. He quiets.
After nap or sleep, I peek over the side of Cooper’s crib. As his eyes focus on my face, he recognizes Mommy. He smiles; he laughs. I pick him up, and he grasps my hair in his tightly clenched fist. “Mommy, I’m not letting you go,” he seems to tell me.
We talk, this Baby Coop and I. He coos, squawks, laughs, and squeals. I tell him how much I love him. I stand him up on his pudgy legs, and we touch noses.
When sleep is calling Cooper’s name, he looks at me with worried eyes. I hold his pacifier in his mouth and bounce him up and down. He hugs my hand for comfort and smiles at my reassuring gaze.
Looking into Cooper’s eyes I learn of love, of trust, of dependence, of delight, of neediness, of joy, of adoration, of satisfaction, of fears dispelled. His eyes remind me of my child-like need for God. I’m reminded of my helplessness and dependence on God. Cooper is a tangible example of the adoration I should have for my heavenly Father.