I apologize in advance for the mushy goo I am about to spill right now. But I want to remember this.
Today I was walking my daughter into her daycare. I was holding her warm, solid little 11-month old self and listening to her babble. She looked at me with her gummy, two-toothed smile, rested her head on my shoulder and patted me on the arm as we walked. The sun was warm and I was filled with gratitude.
The second child sometimes gets the short end. There are fewer photos, and there are fewer firsts, but there is much more. More appreciation: of the fact that she is entirely her own person, of the fact that time is fleeting. I don’t know what the future holds for her, but I wish and hope and pray for only good.
Right now, I know that she holds onto my wrist while she is drinking her bottle. She rests her head on my chest and sucks her thumb. I tickle her chubby thighs, I feel the brush of her dandelion hair on my cheek and I want to freeze time if only for a moment, to fully appreciate what I have.
She is a mama’s girl, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.