Olivia

As a young child, my parents would tell me they loved me each night before tucking me into bed, to which I would respond, "I love you more." My parents would shake their heads and explain how that couldn't possibly be true and that I wouldn't understand until I had children of my own. I was upset that my parents didn't understand my capacity to love, but it was I who didn't understand. Last summer, I think I finally understood.

As an au pair in France, my life revolved around caring for a 13 month old infant, Olivia. Every day began at 6:45 and ended when Olivia finally decided that she had done enough crying, eating, and pooping for one day. The extent of care required to keep a baby alive can be maddening, and if you diverted your attention for a fraction of a second, Olivia could be en route to the basement stairs. Incapable of communication (other than wailing), it is imperative that you maintain focus, mentally cataloging time spans between meals, naps, baths, etc. Often times, once the baby is asleep for the night, you collapse onto your bed without concerning yourself with pajamas or even securing yourself under the covers. 

But there is something beautiful about raising something so innocent and vulnerable. Your heart lightens every time the corners of her mouth curve up into a toothless smile. You find yourself dancing before her like an idiot just so you can see joy in that precious little face. When she cries, your only purpose in life is to stop the tears, not just to eliminate the sound, but because her pain is yours. When you pick her up into your arms, you feel as though a void has been filled and that baby was intended to be a part of you all along. This is why, on my last day in that house in Montpellier, France, I was in tears as I held Olivia for the last time. 

The next day I stayed the night in London. A child's faint cry sounded from the next hotel room and it immediately jolted me awake. I was in emotional pain as I sat alone in the dark, listening to the muted sobbing until the child had cried himself to sleep. I could think of nothing but Olivia, who had become my baby. If Olivia had been old enough to talk and she had told me that she loved me more, I would have told her that it couldn't possibly be true.