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If you just learn a single trick, Scout, you'll get along a lot better with all kinds of folks. You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view... Until you climb inside of his skin and walk around in it. -- Atticus Finch, "To Kill a Mockingbird"

Wednesday, July 15, 2015

Do You Know How Much I Love You?

Please tell me that one day things will be easier.

That you’ll see gas as funny—not the end of the world.
That hiccups will not induce mass panic.
That your ability to poop won’t take an act of God.
That you’ll have burping contests where you burp yourself.
That you’ll use your words to communicate—not shrill shrieks or dying-cat wails.
That you’ll view bath time as fun and not waterboarding.
That bedtime will involve a quiet bedtime story, lullaby music, and sweet prayers—not hysterical screaming, crocodile tears, and quivering chins.
That you’ll understand that you outnumber Mommy and Daddy, who only have so many hands.

But please tell me you know how much I love you.

I love that you’re Daddy’s mini me. How you flash your one-eyed Popeye grins and love to laugh. The way you talk to Mr. Duck, Mr. Fox, and Mr. Owl; the animals on the activity mats; the slats on your crib, the blinds next to the changing table—anything. The way you snuggle. That you try so hard to keep up with your brother and sister but still walk to the beat of your own drummer. That you’re our pipsqeak.

I love the way your hair sticks up crazily on end and the way your smile lights up your face. How you’re sometimes more interested in talking and reaching for your feet than you are eating. That you take great joy in kicking it out and love to have dance parties. How music speaks to you and changes your whole demeanor. The way your entire body relaxes when I’m soothing you. That you’re our instigator.

I love that you’re quiet, observant, and thoughtful but have a feisty side. How your Snuffaluffagus eyelashes give you a dainty look, while your chunky thighs illustrate that you’re a growing girl. That you can look so pretty in pink but hold your own in a burping and tooting contest. The way you shyly smile and giggle at Mr. Fox. How you’re doggedly pursuing rolling over. That you’re our favorite. (Shh! Don’t tell your brothers.)

Please know, my babies, that you were prayed for, longed for, and wanted. Please know that I love you.

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