What if your mirror started talking to you

I look forward to the mornings. To see you first out of bed, hair a mess, and dark circles under your eyes. As the natural person you are. Maybe it's because I get to see the real you all day. The way you laugh. The way you love. The way you serve. I get to see what you don't see in yourself. And no matter what is on the outside, it's the inner beauty that impresses me. The inner beauty that I admire.
I see you over there. Washing clothes. Washing kiddos in the bathtub. Wiping floors. Cleaning the room like you're going to take your next meal on the toilet. Don't think you have me fooled. I see you wash your hands before you touch your baby. Before you take a meal. It's commendable, really. And your dry, cracked hands are evidence of your dedication to cleanliness.
I see you smile at your husband. The sparkle in your eye unlike any other. Your love shining through. I see you laugh at a joke he's made. Run your fingers through his hair. Give him a kiss on the cheek. Embrace him when he needs reassurance. Or stare into the mirror as he tells you he's been laid off, searching me as I search you, wishing I could give you the answers you seek.
I see you lock the door and cry when you've lost someone you love. Or found out about a friend in need. I see your mascara make tracks down your cheeks. The display of pain, so real that I wish I had arms to wrap around you. I am always there. Yet you never see me.
I see you chasing your four year old through the house, trying to convince him to take a bath, turning it into a game. Wrapping him in a towel at the end, and carrying him to bed. I see you brush his teeth, his hair, washing his fingers and toes and face. How many times have you counted those toes and sang him funny songs? Or made him laugh with your funny faces? I watch and listen. Always waiting to see what will come next.
I see you carrying your newborn. Wrapping him in a blanket. Singing him to sleep. His soft coos an affirmation of his love for you. His chubby hands wrap around your hair and pull. Fists full. And tiny little toes that you tickle. Spit up on your shirt, that you try to wipe away.
I sit and I watch. Always still. Always silent. If only I had a voice. A voice to tell you well done. To validate you. To cheers you on. One that says the right words. One that could comfort your broken heart. If only...
I see you at the end of a long day; weary, tired. Some days, you look of accomplishment. Others, defeat. But no matter how the day ends, you're always there the next morning. With a smile. A yawn. And it's that knowledge, that you'll always be there, that keeps me hanging on. Waiting for the day when you'll realize just how special what you do for everyone else really is. Because without you, there would be no them. And life would be empty for all of us.