I watch my daughter siempre la he mirado: the author reflects on warm memories of young motherhood, nourished by beans, tortillas, and a strong circle of friends.(art of mothering)

Publication: Mothering

Publication Date: 01-NOV-05

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COPYRIGHT 2005 Mothering Magazine

I watch my daughter. Siempre la he mirado. (I have always watched her.) Since the morning the nurse held a mirror between my splayed legs so I could get teasing, myopic glimpses of her fuzzy black hair, I have been straining to see her. For six weeks after her birth I held her to the light and stared into her black eyes, until I finally saw the emerging blue I had dreamt of my whole pregnancy. And then it just never stopped. I watched and waited for teeth, first steps, the darkening of skin, the disappearance of the black down on her lower back, the arrival of hips, the first hints of breasts. I still watch her. I see the mole on her inner thigh, black down that came back, shoulders broad with muscle, Aztec-pyramid breasts. I see tiny teeth, a swirl...

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