I’m still my same old stuck in the mud self that I’ve always been. But. Someone else around here is changing with the wild vibrancy of a kaleidoscope. A year ago, I was calling the doctor: “Hi. It’s me, the barely-self-contained neurotic mom. My daughter says five words. You probably want me to bring her in for a hearing test or to schedule an appointment with a development specialist, right?” They politely hung up on me.
Today she informed me, “Usually I sit in my cow car seat since my red car seat is in Daddy’s car and the cow car seat is in Mommy’s car.” Well then. No recent calls to the doctor.
I’m just trying to catch up.
I’m blaming the thick mud my feet seem to be wallowing in for the role-reversal that’s occurring in my life. I’m slow. She’s Speedy Gonzales. She’s overtaking me. Not feeling well the other day, I allowed myself the rare moment of rest—curled up in a blanket, eyes closed, ears open for sounds of two-and-a-half-year-old mischief. Footsteps pattered in. Cardboard book pages creaked. “Hey Mom. Would it make you feel better if I read to you?”
It was just yesterday, I think, that I was at her beck and call every waking and sleeping moment of the day.
I responded as any self-respecting mother would: “Yes. I would love that.” And so she “reads” to me, counting penguins in English and then in Spanish: “Uno, dos, tres, quatro, cinco, dos, cinco, dos, tres.”
“Do you feel better now?
“I feel a teeny-tiny bit better. Thank you for reading to me.”
“Do you want me to read you another book?”
I crack half an eye open in disbelief: “Sure. If you wouldn’t mind.”
“I would not mind.”
Then there was the instance where I was almost plowed down by an invisible car hurtling down the road. Walking hand-in-hand with Little Friend to the corner, I’ve already scanned the empty street to find no approaching vehicles. My foot begins to step off the curb when I feel a small hand–a small hand the same size as a sickle pear that I could squish with one squeeze of my own paw–pull me back to safety.
“No Mama. Don’t get hit by cars. Stop here. I’ll catch you.”
Somedays even stick-in-the-muds like me can learn something new. I’m learning that one of the deepest joys of parenthood comes when the investment I’ve made in caring, loving, protecting, sheltering, rejoicing, pampering returns dividends that far surpass my wildest dreams. I’m always there to catch her. What a gift I’ve been given that she’s there to catch me too.
This post is shared with The Gypsy Mama’s Five Minute Friday.