Baby Girl is growing up. Faster than I’d like? Maybe not. Growing up in ways that make me proud, and secretly thrilled and maybe just a little bit nostalgic. It’s all the tiny little things that I notice every day. One day she stopped asking (demanding) me to wipe her cute little butt. The past week she’s been getting herself out of the bathtub and drying herself off. I no longer have to wrap her up and rub her down and carry her out of the bathroom (a blessing really!). She can brush her own teeth – thank the Lord. She can make her own lunch. Now there might be a few more kit-kat’s and a few less fruits in that lunch than would be otherwise acceptable… but she can do it. She understands the difference between healthy food and junk. School shoes and shoes that can get dirty. She may not like it, but she understands it.
And yet… today there was red marker stuff all over the playroom floor. She tried to eat her dinner with her hands instead of her spoon. I am still required to turn on the light in the bathroom before she’ll go in it. She had a full-blown meltdown when it was time for bed because she didn’t want to stop playing (and because she didn’t want Daddy in her room telling her to cut it out). And I think – THERE she is. That baby that still needs me. That tiny little girl with the huge emotions.
Kindergarten IS AWESOME she cries as she gets out of school. But just this morning the thunder and lightening woke her up and she comes streaking into my room and straight into my arms. I’m not going to school if it’s raining she says. Get her outside and she wants to jump in all the muddy puddles.
I have work to do she tells me as I pick her up from school. I have to do the laundry, and the soccer ball, and play with Tess and take her for a walk and do my schoolwork and …. I listen to her ramble but she is totally serious. It’s adorable and I love her enthusiasm. And then… “WAAAHHHHH, MOMMMMMMYYYYYY TESS WON’T LISTEN TO ME! BAD DOG! But I still love you my little puppy-wuppy but MOMMMMYYY SHE’S A BAD DOG!” I roll my eyes and come to the rescue. She probably just can’t get the snap on the lead because Tess is overexcited and jumping up and down. Passion and drama are not in short supply around here.
She carefully lays out her clothes for school the next morning, lining them up just right so that it looks like a person. I am not allowed to help. But when she gets really upset and is crying about something I scoop her up and rock her like I used to even though she doesn’t really fit in the rocker anymore. She lays her head on my chest and snuffles and cries and I absorb the moment. I smell her head. I sing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. Mommy? she asks. What Baby? I say. Can you smell I tooted? And I sigh and laugh and push her out of the chair as she giggles.
She makes me crazy all the time. We are so much alike and yet she is way more intense than I am. If I tell her she CANNOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES have another snack she will yell FINE I’LL GET IT MYSELF. And I ask myself – how did I phrase that wrong? It sounds pretty clear-cut to me. Apparently all she hears is that I won’t get her one, not that she can’t have one. So we battle. A LOT. And she cries A LOT. And I cry (more than I’d admit to). And then I’ll notice one more thing that she’s doing without me. One more tiny little thing that I am no longer required for. She’s absolutely welcome to wipe her own tush – that one I don’t miss. It’s just that it kind of sneaks up on you. It’s only later that you realize “Hey, I haven’t done that for her in a while.” She’s getting out of the tub on her own and drying off and putting pj’s on and next thing you know she’s in college.
So I’ll notice. I’ll notice all the little things. And I’ll smile to myself and be proud of her. But I’ll still hold her and smell her head whenever she needs me to.
