The story of Emily
"Emily, have I ever told you the story of when you were born?"
I asked her the question this morning. Her eyes lit up. "No!" "Well," I said, "Grammie Martha was there, and Tutu was there, and Daddy was there, too." She nodded her head in understanding, obviously happy that all of her favorite people had been there for her birth.
I looked into her beautiful brown eyes and imagined a river of love passing between us as I shared with her the story of her birth, the story that would bond us through thick and thin, tween years and teen years, as mother and daughter. Emily opened her mouth to speak. This is great! I thought, anticipating her desire for details, imagining her wanting to hear the story again and again.
"Were you there?" was all she asked.
I asked her the question this morning. Her eyes lit up. "No!" "Well," I said, "Grammie Martha was there, and Tutu was there, and Daddy was there, too." She nodded her head in understanding, obviously happy that all of her favorite people had been there for her birth.
I looked into her beautiful brown eyes and imagined a river of love passing between us as I shared with her the story of her birth, the story that would bond us through thick and thin, tween years and teen years, as mother and daughter. Emily opened her mouth to speak. This is great! I thought, anticipating her desire for details, imagining her wanting to hear the story again and again.
"Were you there?" was all she asked.
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