Monday, February 07, 2011
"MAMA!" Her voice rings out from the silence. Loud. Strong. Clear. My hear lurches inside of me and pounds fast in my ears. Suddenly I become that person again and not just the wife putting her nest back together. "MAMA!"- more urgently this time. Patience does not come naturally to this one. Does it ever come naturally? I wonder. I run down the tile hallway in my stocking feet, slowing as I turn the corner so I do not slip. Slowly I open the door eager to see what I will find. There she is, standing expectantly in her crib, watching for me. Her hair is wild with damp ringlets, her cheeks flushed. "I'm awake!" She announces. I never take this for granted. I am thankful for every "I'm awake". I rush to her and pull her close to me. Sometimes if I arrive in time, I can steal a few minutes of snuggling from her busy day. I am not late. She melts into me and I relax into the glider in her room. How many hours have I spent in this chair! For a few minutes, neither of us speak. Her hand slides up my arm and intertwines itself into my hair. This familiar ritual of comfort. I bury my face in her goose down curls. How is it possible that her hair is still this soft? For a moment I remember how it felt to still be one-she and I. When she was her own person, but such a part of me- hidden from the world, but not to me. Now, in our own way, it is still true. Her chest expands and pushes into mine. So much of my heart now resides on the outside of me. I marvel at this truth. She stirs, and I am not yet ready to let go. I drag my fingers up and down her back, luring her back into my embrace for a few minutes longer. She succumbs for a few more minutes. Finally she pulls away, "I want to play with Mr. Potato Head out there." All of her sentences are stated with such certainty. It will be two years on Friday and already she is so independent. So I purpose to hold these moments close to my heart, all wrapped up in joy and thankfulness.