I was reading a blog post yesterday and every word
Steph wrote, I swear was poured out from my heart about and toward Shelby. It saddens me, as much as we are excited to welcome Rhett in a couple of months to our family, that our time of just she and I is quickly fading away. My focus will have to be shared between three instead of two and it's troublesome to me. I have dealt w/ feelings of guilt over making her have to grow up because she will have a baby brother I have to care for to the days that were just ours, will be filled w/ her in Kindergarten and me caring for Rhett at home w/o her laughter filling the house.
Here's
Steph's blog post that sums it all up...
"But I wanted you to hold my hand!" she said through streaming tears, close to hysterics.
I had walked
down the stairs from our living room to our dining room one morning
after waking her up. I can't remember a morning that she didn't insist
on walking down each step herself, even though my hand was always
offered.
Yet, today, in
my haste to start the day by opening the window shade and getting our
breakfasts ready, I did not offer it. And today, she wanted my hand.
In a very
uncharacteristic gesture by my almost 3 year old, she climbed into my
arms. Her face wet with tears. Her voice unable to catch its breath
from the emotion of it all. And in a very uncharacteristic gesture by my
almost 3 year old, she let me hold her, comfort her.
For what seemed
like a blissful eternity, I rocked my little girl back and forth, back
and forth, back and forth. Her small koala body clung to mine, legs
around my torso, arms around my neck. I stroked her fine hair and held
her close.
What she
doesn't know is that I'd hold her every day just like this. She could
ask me anytime, anywhere, and I would drop whatever I was doing to take
her up into my arms and feel her warm little heart beating next to mine.
What she
doesn't know is that I live for her laugh, her smile. The tinkle of her
happy voice in my ears is enough to bring blue skies to a cloudy day.
When the corners of her mouth turn up with joy, my heart skitters into a
thousand butterflies fluttering though a green meadow. I want to take
away anything that makes her sad. I never want her to know pain, if it
takes away that smile.
What she
doesn't know is that after an atrocious day full of tantrums and harsh
words, when I count down the minutes until bedtime, I miss her when
she's asleep. If I knew it wouldn't wake her (and it undoubtedly
would), I would crawl into her room just to peek at her sleeping. For a
child so full of energy and life and passion during the day, she is
surprisingly relaxed and at peace when she dreams. And though I may not
be fully prepared for what the next day will bring, I am secretly
excited for morning so we can meet again.
What she
doesn't know is that I hate myself for the ways I fail her. The
impatient clucking, the loud snap of my voice, the wrong choice of
cleaning my kitchen when I could have been reading her a book. I pray
she will not lack anything because of my faults and insecurities. And I
hope one day she will see all the ways I worked on myself just to be
better for her.
What she
doesn't know, what she couldn't possibly know, is how deep my love runs
for her. It courses through my veins. There is nothing I would not do,
no thing I would not give up, for her. I know now, in a way I could
not have known before I knew her, that love like this cannot dry up like
a dusty river bed. It can only grow stronger, a raging river, with an
endless source. It would be impossible to not love her.
What she
doesn't know is that as time goes by, she will grow up. Dolls and
blocks will be traded for cars and make up. I will spend the years
grasping for her as she runs ahead, finding the delicate balance between
holding on without holding her back. I know she will grow up. And she
will be beautiful and confidant and wonderful. And I will miss her
littleness.
One day I will
look back and wonder why I thought it was so hard, oh so long ago, to
raise this child. And I will vow to myself that if I had the chance, I
would do it all over again. Every minute.
So today, I
hold this little babe, rocking her back and forth, back and forth. I do
not take for granted this moment of prolonged comfort: I snuggle her
into my neck, breathe in her scent, and lock the memory of her deep in
my heart.
Because what
she doesn't know is that, no matter how many years go by, no matter how
old she grows, she will always be my precious little girl."
Please let time slow down...I need more time w/ Shelby...i need to be a better mother to her. I need to not boss and correct her so much...i need to snuggle more and gripe less..i need her to need me and me not feel held-down or inconvenienced by her tiny needs that seem so large to me at the time...I need more time Lord...please Lord, just give me more time...
this is my prayer every night before I go to bed...
