Sweater

I walked through the kitchen, and I could feel his eyes on me. I kept moving, but his gaze followed me with a level of intensity I wasn’t used to from him. When I finally looked up, our eyes met.

“Mom, I love your sweater,” he said, smiling.

I stopped in my tracks. “Thank you, baby,” I replied, returning his smile.

He squinted a little, tilting his head to the side.

My mind told me to keep walking, but my body didn’t listen. I stayed there, frozen for a moment, caught in his gaze.

“You look pretty,” he said—and I could sense the question tucked inside his words.

That’s when I realized I hadn’t really been present. I’d been in my head, racing through my to-do list as I made my way toward the kitchen. Standing there with him, I softened. I let my energy settle back into my body so I could meet him in the moment.

“Thank you, baby,” I said again.

“Is it new?” he asked, searching for something he couldn’t quite name.

“No, it’s actually really old. It just fits me again. I found it—and some jeans—in a bin,” I told him.

“I really like it,” he said, then turned his attention back to the kitten in his lap.

As I walked into the dining room, I replayed the interaction. I knew instantly he hadn’t really been looking at the sweater. Sure, it was a pretty sweater—but that’s not what he was responding to. He had felt the shift in my energy, my frequency, and was trying to understand what he was sensing. I’ve felt that before too—both as the one who changed frequency and as the one noticing someone else’s shift, searching for what looked different on the outside.

The next day, he stared at me again with that same focused intensity.

“I really liked that sweater yesterday. You look just as pretty today, Mom,” he said.

I smiled and told him, “I love you. Thank you for seeing me.”