I've started this post about thirteen times in the past month. I've never finished it because I get stuck - either in the beginning, or the middle, or the end. Everything I say sounds so trite or so cliché that I delete it all and plan to start over for another day. But today, I intend to finish it.
I have become increasingly aware that my time with you is short.
I watch you growing. There are mornings that I pick you up out of your crib and you look like a completely different baby than you did yesterday. Your hair, your facial features, your stature...you are different every day.
You have made great strides in your growth milestones over the past few months since you began crawling. Once I came to terms with the fact that you are a "late bloomer" in your timing, I enthusiastically wait for you to decide to move to the next milestone. You crawled, and that was good enough for you for a while. Then one day, you decided to stand up, and now I can't stop you. You began cruising just this week, and I expect you to be walking by the end of the summer. You will probably prove me wrong about that, because you are wonderful at making a liar out of me.
You've said "mama" finally, but it's only when you really, really, really need me. Mostly, you grunt for things you want or say "ttssss" when you point to things, which means that's what you want. You still say "dada" and "dog" and "hey there." Since you seem to be focusing more on the physical progression, your verbal progression has kind of stalled. That's ok, it's normal.
But with every new milestone, every new accomplishment, it scares me. It scares me to know that in just a few weeks you will be going to daycare because we have decided that I will go back to work. It scares me to know that I won't be there to watch your every move. That I will miss your breakfast and lunch, putting you down for naps, playing picnic with you in the afternoons, and seeing every little smile and cry and laugh. That you might need me, and I won't be there. That there is a possibility that someone else will witness your first steps or new words. That these other people won't know how you like to be held for five minutes after you wake up or how much you love goldfish and pineapple or the songs that always make you smile.
It scares me that in a few short years, you will be in kindergarten, then elementary school, middle school, and high school. That you will make friends and face bullies and be graded on your performance. That you won't always want to hold my hand. That you will ask me to drop you off at a friend's house for a sleepover and then ask me to start dropping you off at the mall. That your independence will be so strong and necessary that I am going to have to let you ride in a car with a boy and trust that he will bring you home safely with your morals intact. That one day, we will fight over how short your shorts are, your history grade, or what college you will attend.
It scares me that one day I will drop you off at your college dorm room and we will stand in the parking lot and cry because both of us are scared to death of this new phase of life. That you will call me on the phone instead of come to my room to talk about parties and boys and what you should wear to the football game. That I will be at home without you. That I won't know exactly where you are at every second and that you won't want to tell me.
It scares me that one day, you will call me to tell me that you've fallen in love with one of these boys. And that boy will ask Your Daddy for permission to marry you. And I will have to help you pick out a wedding dress and flowers and cake. You will be so excited and I will be so terrified. Because I know all my fears have culminated. You won't be mine anymore. You won't be my little girl.
Yes, I know you are only 16 months old and it is probably ridiculous for me to be thinking about these things, but I know I'm not alone. All the mothers of the world think about these things for their children.
And while I am scared for these things, I want them all for you. I want you to experience the fullness of life that I have had. That you will always know love and joy and happiness. That your heart will be full of laughter and your phone will be filled with messages from good friends and your dance card will be full of good boys who want a chance to get to know your sweet spirit. That you will always know your way home and my lap will always be open for you to sit on, no matter how big you are.
But right now...right now, you are pulling all the DVDs off the shelf. This is a daily occurrence. You stop to look at each one before dropping it to the floor. Your legs are shaky as you learn to balance by holding on with just one hand, and in a few minutes, you will forget that you need that hand to help you balance. You'll let go of the stand and fall to your bottom.
Then you'll look at me, with all your toddler panic, like you are worried you've done something wrong or you think you are supposed to be hurt. All I'll have to do is tell you that you're ok and to try again, and all is well in your world. This sweet little world of toys and Mr. Mouse and snacktime and exploring and doing all the things that you aren't supposed to do.
You fill my heart with joy. Joy that only comes from knowing how much of a blessing you are to me and Your Daddy and all of your family. Joy that is a gift from God. Joy that is a privilege to be your mother. You are the best part of me and I will always be proud of you. My lap is always open for you to sit and talk, sit and cry, or to just sit. Even if you don't feel like it, I will always be your best friend. And you will always be my little girl.
