I am a mommy. The moment that beautiful little creature I'd felt dancing in my womb for months entered the world my heart changed. I remember being caught up in wonderment at the miracle in my arms. I cried. I took in her tiny features. I kissed her soft skin and breathed her in.
Such a tiny person to enter my world and such big changes she brought. I had watched other people have babies and anticipated a certain sense of "new normal" that I would experience in those shoes. My "new normal" did not follow my carefully laid plans. My child did not enjoy life outside the safe confines of her early existence and protested everything. While my heart ached at her sorrow my attempts at bringing comfort were often not successful. I have many fond memories of those early days though the soundtrack to them is an unceasing wail.
Such a busy little person even from the days when mobility was a skill to master. She moved with determination. She had plans to see it all, touch it all, rip it all and eat it all. I can still remember the weekend I attended a women's conference and returned home to see a half eaten cardboard book on the kitchen table. I wondered if Andy had taken in a pet in my absence. "No," he assured me,"it was just our daughter. We drove to a friend's house and I gave her a book to read for the trip. She ate it instead."
My tidy house has morphed into something I hardly recognize. Sometimes I gaze about the living room and wonder who could let their child do this? Oh yes, I remind myself, it is your smallish person who moves about with such a passion for life. If only she felt so passionate about restoring order to our world. I observe my space and deflate. My perfectionist expectations raise the white flag and the mess throws a victory party.
It is her joy in the simple things that breaths life into my day. Down the magical rainbow of wonderment (a pile of pillows) into a soft cloud of blankets. We drink imaginary hot cocoa and sample plastic snacks. We read stories of curious monkeys and talking bears and Bible characters. We set out for adventures and explore the world. She helps me cook, carefully measuring and mixing things and always asking to lick the beaters. Tony Bennett's music puts a spring in her step.
It is her strong, independent and adventurous spirit that keeps me on my toes. She is as determined as she is capable. As quickly as she draws breath her mind weaves tales. She has a broad vocabulary and knows how to use it, often to try and re-explain circumstances that should spell for naughtiness. Of course she's innocent, it was all a mistake. Opossums are often blamed for things around here. Darn creatures.
She is my little creature. I am her mommy. Today was a day of potty training independence. She calls out "I NEED TO GO POTTY!" then makes a dash for the potty chair. I meet her there but am not greeted with graciousness. "I NEED PRIVATE-CY!" she announces, her hand waving me away. I step out, my careful eye on the girl inside. Recently, however, she has discovered that it's better not to announce her intentions as she slips into the bathroom, a place that she visits often in these early days of learning. Three separate trips equal one time of actual need. Lots of hand washing. Lots of toilet paper strewn about the bathroom floor. And then an afternoon of energy-splosion, as if she was a vending machine filled to the limit with quarters. I could barely keep up. I prayed for strength to endure the afternoon with joy, to live in these little moments with a 3 year old girl who won't be 3 for long.
Night falls and the little girl snuggles up in my arms. Daddy reads a chapter of "Little House in the Big Woods" and then Psalm 23. I treasure these moments before tucking her in her little bed. She is tired and does not stir. I smile.
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