I love summer break (insert the broadest, most relaxed smile ever). I’ve spent my first two summer mornings snuggling in bed with one of my littles. Yesterday, my youngest climbed in and we decided to go to “Dillyland” (it’s either there, the beach, or outer space, now). I asked him if we should take the stroller, and he looked at me like I was crazy, and said, “I fink we should fly, Mama.” After we flew down there, he thought being pushed around in a stroller was just fine, and we rode Lightening McQueen a bunch, and also the “scary elevator.”
This morning was a rare treat. My oldest, in her polka dot PJs, climbed in with me. I looked at her face on the pillow next to mine, and my eyes immediately saw her tiny baby face, easy as could be. I told her I used to prop her up on daddy’s pillow, while he was getting ready for work, and give her her morning bottle, and stroke her fine, blonde, baby hair, and kiss her rosy cheeks (which I happily reenacted, and made her giggle). I told her how daddy would come over, looking all big and strong in his flight suit and combat boots, interrupting bottle time, because he was – and still is – her hero. I loved watching how their faces would light up and glow every time they saw each other. He’d talk silly, and make her giggle, and kiss her cheeks, and blow on her belly for big, real laughs. He’d nuzzle her nose, and tell her how beautiful she was, how smart she was, and how much he loved her. And then he’d always poke his lip out playfully, but his eyes were genuine, serious, when he told us he didn’t want to leave. He hated being away from us – his little family, his whole world. We’d give him frowny goodbye waves, blow lots of kisses, tell him to be careful, and that we loved him very much. Then I’d watch her bright-eyed baby face smooth into serious, relaxed lines, as she resumed her bottle. And I’d just marvel at how beautiful she was. And how I couldn’t believe she was mine….
And while telling her all these things this morning, to her giddy delight (she loooves to hear adoring stories about herself – who wouldn’t?), I thought how special it was that not much had changed in the passing of almost nine years’ time. Daddy still does a similar routine with all the kiddos every morning, and we all tell him we love him, to be careful, are sad to see him go, and all wave at the window, blowing kisses, as he drives away. And I still catch myself watching their faces, marveling at the beauty of it all, and still can’t quite believe they all belong to me…. For a few, blessed, morning moments, anyway, until our Real Day smacks me hard in the face.;) I’m sure this all sounds very Polly-Anna-ish, or that I’m making all this up, or romanticizing it, but it’s in fact, just what we do every morning. It’s very real to us – to me. It’s our simple way of letting our loved ones know how we feel about them, and parting ways helps us – at least me – to not take each other for granted. My oldest “baby” told me yesterday (after asking what some lines meant in the wedding song, “Never Stop”), “I will never get used to you, Mama.” That’s how I feel about them. My little family. My whole world.
Now, I need to go hug her, again.:)
Stylist + Mama x 4