For what seemed like
a blissful eternity, I rocked my little girl back and forth, back and forth,
back and forth. Her small koala body clung to mine, legs around my torso, arms
around my neck. I stroked her fine hair and held her close.
What she doesn't know
is that I'd hold her every day just like this. She could ask me anytime,
anywhere, and I would drop whatever I was doing to take her up into my arms and
feel her warm little heart beating next to mine.
What she doesn't know
is that after an atrocious day full of tantrums and harsh words, when I count
down the minutes until bedtime, I miss her when she's asleep. If I knew it
wouldn't wake her (and it undoubtedly would), I would crawl into her room just
to peek at her sleeping. For a child so full of energy and life and passion
during the day, she is surprisingly relaxed and at peace when she dreams. And
though I may not be fully prepared for what the next day will bring, I am
secretly excited for morning so we can meet again.
What she doesn't know
is that I hate myself for the ways I fail her. The impatient clucking, the loud
snap of my voice, the wrong choice of cleaning my kitchen when I could have been
reading her a book. I pray she will not lack anything because of my faults and
insecurities. And I hope one day she will see all the ways I worked on myself
just to be better for her.
What she doesn't
know, what she couldn't possibly know, is how deep my love runs for her. It
courses through my veins. There is nothing I would not do, no thing I would not
give up, for her. I know now, in a way I could not have known before I knew her,
that love like this cannot dry up like a dusty river bed. It can only grow
stronger, a raging river, with an endless source. It would be impossible to not
love her.
What she doesn't know
is that as time goes by, she will grow up. Dolls and blocks will be traded for
cars and make up. I will spend the years grasping for her as she runs ahead,
finding the delicate balance between holding on without holding her back. I know
she will grow up. And she will be beautiful and confidant and wonderful. And I
will miss her littleness.
One day I will look
back and wonder why I thought it was so hard, oh so long ago, to raise this
child. And I will vow to myself that if I had the chance, I would do it all over
again. Every minute.
So today, I hold this
little babe, rocking her back and forth, back and forth. I do not take for
granted this moment of prolonged comfort: I snuggle her into my neck, breathe in
her scent, and lock the memory of her deep in my heart.
Because what she
doesn't know is that, no matter how many years go by, no matter how old she
grows, she will always be my precious little girl
I took this from the following blog....it just so simply and accurately mirrors my own feelings and wishes for my little girl. I couldn't help but share. It's tough to be constantly mindful of what a gift she is. Words like this take me back to two years ago when I would've given ANYTHING to be up all night with my own baby. I think my new years resolution will be to continue to keep my perspective on being a mother and having the joyful and difficult task of raising this beautiful little girl.
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