I awake early to his soft calls drifting across the hall. I quietly peep into his room; as the saying goes – he’s wide eyed and bushy tailed, although still snuggled happily in his blanket. The air feels icy this morning, thoughts of climbing back into bed and to wrap myself in the feather doona fleetingly enters my mind, instead I make my way to the kitchen. I prepare his formula, attach his teat to his bottle and test the milk’s temperature on my wrist.
He is still lying in his bed, all cosy and cuddly on his heated blanket. His tiny hand reaches out and his delicate fingers wrap around mine. The adoration is shining from his eyes, openly apparent. I am aware he knows we are somehow different, that something is out of place, but he is naively accepting.
We settle down, just the two of us, in front of the smouldering fire. He grasps his bottle hungrily. He lies contentedly in my arms; his beautiful eyes framed with their long black lashes connect eloquently to mine. He holds tight to his bottle, already showing how capable he is becoming. I sit quietly, listening to his soft suckling as he finishes his warm milk.
I notice how quickly he grows, each day the subtle changes to his features. He’s not like me at all. His eyes seem much too large, his ears cutely protrude from his tiny head, but there is no denying he has the face of an angel, and his hair is oh, so soft and silken. He has that sweet baby perfume, a fragrance that no-one can reproduce nor resist. He can tug at the heartstrings of the toughest, this sweet young one.
I lovingly wipe his little milky moustache. I tickle his velvety pink stomach and he pushes my hands away squirming to wriggle free. He kicks out playfully, his bright eyes sparkling with life. We lay on the mat, basking in the winter sun streaming through the window. We are happy in each others company, enjoying this time that’s just for the two of us. He clambers all over me, tugging at my hair, his little nails tangle in its length.
His adorable face gently rubs against mine and his kisses are soft and wet on my nose and cheek. I hold him close and whisper sweet nothings in his ear. He is captivated by my voice, attentive to my every word. There’s no need for him to respond, all that he feels is shown clearly on his expressive little face.
I carry him outside and introduce him to my special place, the garden. I pick new spring blossom and let him smell its sweet scent. He gazes in wonder at the open blue sky and the green of the grass. He breathes deep the fresh air and I can see his pleasure in the cool breeze caressing his face. He listens alertly to new sounds; the rustle of the leaves, the distant bark of a dog, the birds singing from the trees, whilst always knowing he is secure and safe in my arms, that I will protect him at all costs.
He grows sleepy and his eyes struggle to stay open. I wrap him firmly in his blanket and gently place him in his bed. He holds tight, not wanting to be separated, reluctant to let me go. I reassure him and tenderly tuck him in, checking once more he is warm. His drowsy brown eyes follow my every move but I know that not long after I leave he will settle into a deep sleep. He’s a wonderful sleeper, this little one, always content to doze through the daylight hours.
It’s not all harmony though. At times we are out of sync with each other. He cannot understand why during the night I am reluctant to play, that I desperately need him to drink his bottle and go back to sleep. He is alive with energy and enthusiasm, trying to entice me to stay longer, using his cute, cheeky antics to sway my better judgement. He doesn’t realise that I, too, need my sleep, that I cannot sit up to the wee hours keeping him company, amusing him night after night.
Unfortunately, time passes so fast, a reminder to treasure each moment we spend together, and with sadness I accept, that all too quickly his need for me will recede. His independence grows strong with each day and I know all too soon, I must let him make his own way in life.
I’ll remember the first time he climbed a tree and how nervously I watched, mindful of any falls – not that he ever fell, his balance is so much better than mine and he doesn’t display my fear of heights. I’ll visualise his first taste of an orange, his little nose wrinkling from the bitter sweet juice. When I bite into a piece of fruit, I’ll recall our times in the kitchen preparing our favourite meal, fruit salad; the way we shared a banana, or an apple – a piece for you, a piece for me. Our combined pleasure from summer’s best, the juiciest peaches, rich ripe rockmelons and the sweetest strawberries picked straight from our vegetable garden. I’ll laugh at our oddness when eating muesli – how we would both pick out the crystallized fruit pieces first. Maybe he is a bit like me after all – we both have a weakness for sweets and both are at our happiest outdoors.
I’ll remember our shared love of the garden, especially his of roses and the way he would bury his face in their soft petals, small pieces of yellow pollen stuck fast to his nose. I watched how he was drawn to particular flowers and trees, how he noticed subtle differences in textures and aromas. His appreciation of nature is so much deeper than mine.
I admire his gentle acceptance of my short comings in some of the finer aspects of motherhood. I hope he understands my withdrawal as he grows older and that it is for both our sakes, that I would never do anything intentionally to hurt him, and I’m sure he’ll recognise my need to instil a fear of strangers in him – that sadly, not everyone can be trusted.
I will feel the heartbreak when he leaves home and hope he knows that I have not forgotten him, that I still worry for him – which helps explain my silly behaviour when I leave fresh fruit and vegetables on his doorstep.
I fret I may not have given him all the skills he will need out there, but I know deep inside I have done my best. I know he has had all the love and affection I have to give and a small piece of my heart will go with him when he decides the time is right.
In return he has given me, and those who were fortunate to meet him, a more sympathetic view of our world around us – an insight into how fragile nature is, encouragement to appreciate, and protect our environment for future generations to experience and enjoy. And above all, he has shown me that all life is precious and that one small act of love and kindness can make a difference.
I shake off my sorrow and replace it with a faint smile as I remember another face, not so long ago, just as sweet as his, who too, captivated my heart; and I know that inevitably another, with large soulful eyes, will come and share our home and our life.
You see -‘he’ is an orphaned baby brushtail possum and I am his proud surrogate mother.
