Thursday, February 23, 2017

I miss you, daughter.

This morning I slipped into your room quietly, just before the sunrise.  You were just waking up, still cuddled under your pink, fuzzy blanket, clinging to the cloth diaper you've slept with since birth. I stroked your hair, asking you quietly if you wanted to watch the sun "wake up" with me.  It was still dark in your room, but I could see your silhouette nodding yes.  You quietly slid out of bed. We walked over to your window, opened the blinds and there it was, the beautiful sun, rising in the fluorescent pink sky.

You stood there in amazement, while picking your nose of course.  I sat on the edge of your tiny toddler bed, with you in front of me.  You're still so small, I can wrap my arms around your entire body.  I breathed in the smell of your freshly clean hair from your bath the night before.  I kissed your delicate, soft cheek and just breathed in this moment.  This moment of still.  A stillness we don't get to share often these days, because you have a baby sister now that warrants most of mommy's attention.

The way you've acclimated to becoming a big sister has astonished your daddy and I.  Shocked us, really.  You adore that little sister of yours, asking for her when you first wake up and insisting you kiss her little forehead every night before bed.  It occurred to me this morning, as you walked out the door after refusing to hug me goodbye, that the love you used to show me, you now reserve for your sister.

After that magical moment we shared watching the beautiful pink sunrise, you refused to let me dress you..  You refused to let me comb your hair.  You refused to kiss me goodbye.

I chose not to force you, while my heart silently shattered inside.  You walked out the door, hand in hand with daddy, turning around just long enough to wave goodbye to my silhouette in the doorway.

I closed the door and tears began pouring down my cheeks.  In that moment, I realized how distant you've become lately. You insist that daddy do bedtime every night. Insist that daddy dress you, that daddy comb your hair...

Since your sister was born, you have watched me care for her, feed her, bathe her, rock her.  You have fallen in love with your baby sister, just as I have. You've also become fiercely independent, perhaps assuming Mommy doesn't have any love left to give you.

But that's the beautiful thing about mommies.  We have special hearts, hearts that grow with each child that's born. See, our hearts have to grow in size in order to hold all the love we now carry.  I know that's confusing to you right now, because you see your baby sister in my arms often these days. But see, mommies are full of an endless supply of deep, abounding love.  A love you won't understand until you become a Mommy.

Every morning we rise, no matter how tired we are, mommies rise like the beautiful sun in that pink fluorescent sky.  We rise, ready to shower that love over ALL of our babies.   

So when you're ready, I'm here.

Just don't take too long....

1 comment :

Melissa {Persnickety Plates} said...

Baby sister will be here in June; big sister will be 3 in March. Way to make this pregnant lady cry at her desk ;)

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