You're something I have, and you're something I do- each and every day. Daughter/mother. Even on the days when I don't see you, I am actively parenting you. It's somewhat hard to put into words. Now, you're a girl and that means the ways I am with you are adapting as you change. Last Friday night, right before bed, we were pummeled with a good, old-fashioned hail storm. I quickly ran and got you, and pressed our faces against the cool pane of the glass in the sliding door. Look! I pointed, that's hail! It comes from the clouds- it's cold, and it mixes with the the wind and the rain when the formula is right. We stayed there until the hail passed- this was, after all, your first conscious experience with hail. It was a pretty big deal, for me to be there with you. In the morning, you inevitably asked where all the hail went- and I tried to explain that to you.
It dawned on me then, the weight that is parenting, and the bigger and more pressing it grows as you do. It's not overwhelming in a sad, terrified way- rather, it's becoming clearer to me just how awesome this responsibility is. I'm already teaching you some of life's biggest lessons. Tell the truth. Be nice to others. Listen. Apologize. Those four elements right there I am still teaching myself to do on a daily basis, and here I am teaching you at the same time. I have to be careful to set a good example for you. I have to practice what I preach. You're life in fast-forward and reverse, all at the same time. And I thank you for that. And at the same time, I ask you to forgive me now. For what, I'm not sure- yet. But someday, I will fail you, make a mistake, tell you the wrong thing, or show you the incorrect way. But that doesn't mean I don't love you- it will never mean that.
You came from the clouds- you're warm and light and mixed with Mama and Daddy and your formula is just right.
And Mama loves.
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