I was enjoying a good book this morning, lounging in Emma's pretty room while she played Barbies. It was such a treat to have a little quiet time, since normally Emma doesn't play by herself. Mandy was sleeping and I was reading, the sun was shining in. I suggested to Emma that she should get dressed and she went right to her closet to obey. These days, her readiness to obey catches me off guard. I am still used to fights and struggles at every turn, but I believe she is maturing out of the terrible defiant stage we've been treading water in, fighting for breath, for the last 2 years.
Emma went to the closet and picked out a nice, mostly matching outfit and proceeded to get undressed from her pj's. She was humming to herself and I felt tears well up in my eyes as she shrugged the long sleeved pj shirt off her arms and pulled it off over her head. She was oblivious to my display of emotion as she quietly hummed to herself and put on her clothes. One shirt first, then another and then a skirt and she checked for the tag in each to make sure it was right. She announced, "See I cute. And I match, mom." Like, don't try and tell me that I don't match, mom. I would never dream of such a thing.
I feel the pull of my baby's growing independence and it tugs painfully at my heart. I barely remember what it was like to hold her as a newborn, it went by too fast. I can't even imagine changing her diaper anymore, she is far beyond that stage of needing me. On our walks she asks me questions, deep ones, and tells me things I have never thought of:
"Why's the water right there?"
"Where did the hay go?"
"I not whining to-day."
"I whine, then I ride in the shoorie (stroller)."
"I love you!"
"Did you get a snack?"
"That sign say 'park'."
"That sign say "ahh, turn'."
"What do lamas eat?"
"Here's a fwawy (flower) for you."
Just the other day I was talking with my mom and told her a story about when I was in Italy, stranded at a creepy train station -- the wrong train station -- for a few hours with a bunch of drunk male strangers. I was more freaked out than I have ever been in my entire life and it was such a great feeling to finally be on the train again, headed in the right direction. My mom remarked, "There have been so many times I was prompted to pray and I didn't know why." Oh, it must be so hard for a mother to let go. I can barely let my 3 year old dress herself without feeling weepy. I can't imagine letting her traipse off to parts of the world unknown, with drunk guys saying who-knows what to her in a language she doesn't understand.
She is growing up. That is for certain. I am so proud of her ability to make choices, her thoughtfulness, and compassion. She is such a gift to be with and the time will fly by before I even know it. I'm not ready. I want to enjoy a few more thousands of days with her saying "I love you." I need to soak in the times she needs me and embrace the moments she is just being a little girl. When she calls from the bathroom, "I pooped mom. Come wipe me!" for the world to hear. Or when she proudly states, "I can do it my-safe (myself)." The day will come when she doesn't need me. She won't need help zipping up her coat or putting those pesky flower shaped buttons in their holes. She'll say, "Bye, mom, I'm off Italy. Pray for me." Every minute. My dear sweet baby. Every minute.
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