I can't believe that 4 years ago, I was 55 lbs heavier (yes, I gained a ton of weight, and no, she wasn't a freakishly large baby) and about to have my little Strip! As I was cleaning out an old email folder, I came across a note I sent to a friend of mine's mother about how life was with my sweet baby. It was fun to travel back in time and be in that person's shoes again. For your reading pleasure, to celebrate my 4 year-old (and because I've got to play Candy Land and shouldn't be on the computer right now!) I'm copying and pasting my note and adding a pic of what my little Strip looked like when it was written. Time sure does fly!
I loved your email! I
had a good, big Mom moment today.
I got up and got [Strip], played and talked to dad as he got ready for work--I'm sure this part of his day is stressful, he has to iron his shirt while watching ESPN!-- I spent the next twenty min. singing songs about bananas, oatmeal and peaches (our breakfast blend of the morning), only to have most of the jar fed to the dog or wiped on my shirt or the table. After hosing all of us down, the morning bottle was ready. I peacefully fed my beautiful daughter while sipping my morning cup of joe. The moment was to picturesque, so [Strip] took the bottle out of her mouth, turned to my clean shirt, and let out a very manly burp to be followed by about two oz. of milk. Lovely.
She went down for her morning nap as I let June out so I could rake all of the leaves in the yard. 45 min of sweating led me to the kitchen for a tall glass of water and a broken oven I had to take care of. Between loads of laundry, I then stared at the fridge thinking of how it needed to be cleaned out, but [Strip] called, and it was time to put on my happy face.
Have I brushed my teeth today? Do I have a bra on? I'm not sure.
As we play and discover how to pull up, all I can think of is folding the laundry that is now getting cold in the drier and how I am about to wet my pants. But, we are having too much fun, so we hit the dry/fluff cycle on the drier AGAIN and have lunch. I catch a glimpse of the clock as [Strip] begins to rub her eyes and cannot believe that it is already 2 and time for an afternoon nap. I put her down after a story and song and catch a peek at the yard on my way to the bathroom. I have to laugh because the leaves look just as bad as they did this morning, only there is a big pile at the bottom of the driveway now! I begin to think of all the things I do during the day that no one is going to come right out and thank me for or tell me great job. And as I think of how I have the hardest, most unappreciated job in the world, [Strip] coos and squeals. She is ready to play again and I marvel at how an hour and a half can fly. I peak in her room and she catches me out of the corner of her eye, looks straight at me and smiles the biggest smile ever imaginable on a 6 month old. As we sing our diaper changing song, I listen to her quack and BAAAA and have to laugh. I throw her up in the air to get a good laugh and squeal. We now head to the big mirror to say hello to the baby in the mirror and ask how her nap was.
I cannot believe the PERSON in front of me who just a few months earlier was just a little ball, and a few weeks earlier than that was just a bump. I immediately think of my mother and wonder how many of these days she had, how she was probably about to pull her hair out only to fall on the floor laughing at us. I can't believe how this half a year has passed and know that before I blink, my little [Strip] will be out of the house and on her own.
So for now, I ignore my screaming bladder, the messy yard, the cold wrinkled laundry and the dog hair on the couch. For now, I am enjoying now, and feel secure that all the women before me have done the same. And while I know I don't get a blue ribbon and a ticker tape parade after everything I do, at the end of the day, I might as well have, because being a mother tops any award, promotion or recognition anyone could ever get in any other position.
1 comment:
This was beautiful! It reads like an article out of "Parents" magazine. You rock my socks.
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