When we were children My mother had a garden wild as we Full of bachelor’s buttons heron’s bill, vining twists of morning glory field madder and daisies Sunflowers, snapdragons, poppies, … Continue reading My Mother’s Weeds
Category: daughter
The Maze of a Modern Mom
Pacing the floor To soothe That neurotic itch To get a few steps more For the FitBit lift But the floor is a maze A Labyrinth worth pacing A veritable … Continue reading The Maze of a Modern Mom
Horrors Pass
My children laughed They played and giggled Took turns Hugged and Kissed each other’s scraped knees And I Held my bated breath Waiting For the first fist to fall The … Continue reading Horrors Pass
Let Go
I had to share this post from one of my favorite bloggers, Behind the White Coat, because it so perfectly mirrored my own thoughts as I watched my daughter plunge ahead of me on the sidewalk yesterday. She doesn’t want to hold my hand any more, but wants to forge her own way through the world, armed with her knowledge to stop at driveways and look for cars, and to always, always stop at the street and wait for me or her daddy to hold hands.
I want to hold her hand forever. I want to feel her little hand, so warm and soft in my own, with the knowledge that if her hand is in mine, I can keep her safe.
But little girls get bigger, and little girls want to learn how to stand on their own two feet, and to see their moms looking back at them with a smile, not a constant look of terror.
Because when she runs ahead, with a carefree bounce in step, I am constantly imagining a car coming from nowhere, jumping the curb and taking her from me. I’m imagine her bobbing hair, her head turning and those innocent happy eyes looking into mine as she’s ripped from my world. I imagine her broken, dying, in my arms, and all the terrible things that could happen in that moment when’s she just out of my reach, and I’m plunged into a dark place. I want to run to her, pick her up, caution her that the world is a scary place, and she must always be careful of all the terrible things that could happen in that moment when she turns her head to beam at her mommy. But then I think, if she’s obeying the rules, if she’s close to me, why should I put my own fear of all the things that COULD happen into her?
I see her joy and it lifts my spirits, but my fear of letting go of that little precious hand and letting her discover the world on her own, with her own two hands, not just one – that terrifies me.
I let go, I smile and laugh and enjoy her exploration of the world around her, point at the things we’re learning at together, but each time I feel like I’m holding my breath, waiting for the moment when she comes back to me. When her hand is in mine, or I’m carrying her, her head resting on my shoulder.
On Showing Up
Okay, so I put this out there in my post on being a med student’s wife, but something that I didn’t mention about the hardship of being a med student’s … Continue reading On Showing Up
Quick-Slow
Here’s a little poem I wrote for my daughter, in one of those many moments where I was so happy, I was damned sure my heart was about to burst.
I hope everyone is having a wonderful weekend. I know I am!
-The Rambler
Happiness and Gratitude
I have been sick, yet again, for days. While thinking of ways to strengthen my immune system, I have had extra time with my little one, as we’ve sneezed and coughed into (in her case, at least) each others faces. I am annoyed that I am sick again, but I am also exceedingly grateful.
Getting ready for this week, this favorite week of mine (yay, turkey!), I couldn’t help but take a moment to compose a little poem to reflect the happiness in my heart.
Her Light
Time grows still
When I see your smiling face
The light in your eyes
And those dimpled cheeks
My love, my sweet, my darling
My daughter.
When I hold you, Little One,
Your hand against my cheek
Your laughter
Music inside my soul
I know you
My love, my angel, my light,
My daughter.
****
It’s hard, feeling her wonderful weight in my arms, knowing that in just a few short years (well, ten, hopefully), she will hate to be smothered in her mother’s kisses, spun in circles in her mother’s arms, or simply rocked to sleep and held while she touches my cheek and I watch her eyes droop into sleepiness.
But, I am so thankful and know I will love this wonderful little girl as she grows into whomever she chooses to be. She will always be my little girl.
Happy Turkey Week! May we each find something to give thanks for…
-The Rambler
R.R. Wolfgang 