"Come back, mommy. I miss you". That was the moment. That was the very moment I saw our two and a half year old daughter as a little girl. Not a baby throwing bottles on the ground and making messes. Not a toddler throwing a fit or ripping off her diaper and running through the house shrieking that she is a monster. When she said those words to me I couldn't leave the room. My heart wouldn't let me. She held her head down and I had to go back and pull her into my arms and hold her until she smiled. I held her as long as she would let me.
We danced, we sang, we colored, we played, we listened to music really loud as we cleaned the house together. She has no clue who is benefiting here. She doesn't know it's me. She's not the lucky one. It's me. It will always be me. And someday, when she is a young woman, shedding her first tears over a guy, I want to be there for her. When she gets married, I want to hug her and tell her she found a great man. And when she is a mother, and she calls me up to tell me she's messed up, I'm going to tell her I am proud of her.
She may not remember these moments with me. She won't recall every detail about me, games we used to play, or things we used to do. Or how perfect she is. But I will. I always will. And I know there will come a day that we will say goodbye. Where Buzz Lightyear, ponies, crayons, silly dancing, and butterflies won't matter anymore. Eventually life comes in and sweeps that all away. But she doesn't know that yet. Isn't childhood amazing...
So next time when she asks me to pretend I'm Buzz Lightyear and drop my voice 3 octaves lower, maybe I'll do it. When she sweetly says "Wanna draw with me?" at 5 in the morning, maybe I will. Because I know, I really truly know, that someday I will be sitting somewhere, thinking of my daughter. Of her laugh, her silliness, her innocent smile. And she will be off in her own little life, living her own little dreams.
And my heart will ache for her. And I know exactly what I'll say....
"Come back, Emmie. I miss you".
We danced, we sang, we colored, we played, we listened to music really loud as we cleaned the house together. She has no clue who is benefiting here. She doesn't know it's me. She's not the lucky one. It's me. It will always be me. And someday, when she is a young woman, shedding her first tears over a guy, I want to be there for her. When she gets married, I want to hug her and tell her she found a great man. And when she is a mother, and she calls me up to tell me she's messed up, I'm going to tell her I am proud of her.
She may not remember these moments with me. She won't recall every detail about me, games we used to play, or things we used to do. Or how perfect she is. But I will. I always will. And I know there will come a day that we will say goodbye. Where Buzz Lightyear, ponies, crayons, silly dancing, and butterflies won't matter anymore. Eventually life comes in and sweeps that all away. But she doesn't know that yet. Isn't childhood amazing...
So next time when she asks me to pretend I'm Buzz Lightyear and drop my voice 3 octaves lower, maybe I'll do it. When she sweetly says "Wanna draw with me?" at 5 in the morning, maybe I will. Because I know, I really truly know, that someday I will be sitting somewhere, thinking of my daughter. Of her laugh, her silliness, her innocent smile. And she will be off in her own little life, living her own little dreams.
And my heart will ache for her. And I know exactly what I'll say....
"Come back, Emmie. I miss you".
RSS Feed
