Must. Stop. Time.

Last night we curled in her bed and read together, and I watched her fingers trace the outline of Maid Marion’s wedding dress. Her eyes lit up and then turned dreamy, and I knew where her mind had gone–to her own white dress and flowers and dreams of weddings and husbands and families. She loves to imagine that day.

I shook back tears and mentally screamed, “Must. stop. time!”

We read Dumbo together, Bear curling in with us, and she finger traced the Mommy and baby together and cried when they were separated. “That’s how I feel when I’m away from you, Mommy. Well, some of the time. I really like to be at school, too. I guess I’m torn in two.”

And so it begins…

Mommy? You wear jeans a lot, don’t you?

I do, honey bunches of redheadedness, Why?

Well. Perhaps you should consider wearing more skirts and different pants, you know, so you look nicer.

She’s five, y’all. What will she say when she’s fifteen?

Magic to Believe In

“Magic has to be believed in. It’s the only way it’s real”
(A Little Princess)

p1090719.jpg

Her footfalls were soft down the stairs this morning, muffled by her sleeper jammy feet. She peeked into the den where I sat under a warm blanket in the quietness of our dark house.

“Mommy?” she whispered, curling up next to me and looking deep into my eyes, “Did you see the snow?” I nodded, gazing at her barely contained excitement. “I did.”

Her eyes sparkled (don’t they always?), “Iiiiiii LOVE it!” she threw her arms up, jumped off the couch and proceeded to twirl through the room.

Bittersweet Dance Steps

When she was born, our doctor yelled (literally) triumphantly, “It’s a girl!” The nurses cheered, I cried, and Brian just grinned, looking a bit shell-shocked. (He was convinced we were having another boy, and because there are just so few surprises left in life, we had decided to not find out what we were having with my pregnancies.)

After they had weighed her and cleaned her and pronounced her a 9.9 on the Apgar test, they swaddled her and placed her in my arms. The setting sun streamed through the windows as I held her marveling at each one of her features, so tiny and new and breathtaking. She settled and slept.

Daily Delight

She arrives at our bedroom door with her dolly in arms, cooing, cuddling, kissing and beaming. She waltzes out of bed. I am convinced of this. She must, because as we go about our morning routines, she cannot stop the motion of her feet or the humming from her heart as she cheers us as we work and prepare for the day.

Oh, how she delights!