In the Emily moment
This morning I had one of those moments that makes me stop and think about the truly important things in my life, my children and the love I have for them. I had just gotten out of the shower and before getting dressed I decided to check on Emily. Thomas was napping and I had left Emily in front of the TV. I wasn't sure if that was where I'd find her now, less than 10 minutes later. Admittedly, I suspected the worst and would not have been at all surprised to find her wreaking havoc in the refrigerator, climbing onto the counter, or spilling salt all over the stove. I looked out the bedroom door and down the hallway and saw her sitting quietly on the family room couch, watching Blue's Clues. My sweet girl! She sensed my presence and turned to me. I gave her a little wave and went back to getting dressed.
I'm about to put on my shoes when this sweet girl makes her way into my room. She's carrying her comfort items: a yellow blanket and a teddy bear that's almost as big as she is. I'm sitting in the rocking chair and she comes over and climbs into my lap and says over and over again, mama, mama, mama. It is clear that she adores me and wants me to know it. She leans close to me and gives me a chocolate-covered kiss.
And I am annoyed.
I've got things to do! I've got to put on my shoes! I need to put those folded clothes away! There's a wet towel on the bed!!
And I take a deep breath.
I breath in the smell of her hair and marvel at the stickiness of her fingers. I am in awe of the fact that this delightful creature seems to really really be INTO me. And then I start thinking about the way I want to organize the closet and about whether or not I should get a headboard for the bed and about which machines I want to use when I go to the gym.
And I stop thinking.
Instead I sit and am with my daughter in this moment we are sharing, in the here and now of her proximity to me, of my proximity to her. And it works and it's beautiful and I'm at peace with what is instead of at odds with what should be.
Then she squirms and wants to get down. I put on my shoes and hang up my wet towel. From the kitchen I can hear the sounds of my sweet girl climbing onto the counter.
And life goes on.
I'm about to put on my shoes when this sweet girl makes her way into my room. She's carrying her comfort items: a yellow blanket and a teddy bear that's almost as big as she is. I'm sitting in the rocking chair and she comes over and climbs into my lap and says over and over again, mama, mama, mama. It is clear that she adores me and wants me to know it. She leans close to me and gives me a chocolate-covered kiss.
And I am annoyed.
I've got things to do! I've got to put on my shoes! I need to put those folded clothes away! There's a wet towel on the bed!!
And I take a deep breath.
I breath in the smell of her hair and marvel at the stickiness of her fingers. I am in awe of the fact that this delightful creature seems to really really be INTO me. And then I start thinking about the way I want to organize the closet and about whether or not I should get a headboard for the bed and about which machines I want to use when I go to the gym.
And I stop thinking.
Instead I sit and am with my daughter in this moment we are sharing, in the here and now of her proximity to me, of my proximity to her. And it works and it's beautiful and I'm at peace with what is instead of at odds with what should be.
Then she squirms and wants to get down. I put on my shoes and hang up my wet towel. From the kitchen I can hear the sounds of my sweet girl climbing onto the counter.
And life goes on.
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