Pretend

In the weeks after you were born, your fairy Godmother stopped by to check in on us. The visit was poignant for me because I asked her to be your fairy Godmother and presented her with a card as to why, years and years and years before you and everything, I knew someday she'd have my daughter as her Goddaughter. I remember confiding in her that thus far, motherhood was err ... easy*. You slept all night long, almost all day long, and I had written all my thank you's, gotten back into my favorite jeans, finished three or four books, and asked her if I needed to start making elaborate meals for the Dad each evening.

She said no way.

She also said I needed to slow down and just be. To turn off the programmed switch that made me the way I was - a go, go, goer and a do, do, doer. I needed to adjust because for all I know, motherhood could reverse itself and I'd end up like a turtle on its back.

The conversation then drifted into what you would be like in the weeks, months, years afterward.
I remember her telling me how much she loved the infant stage, but that the toddler stage was just eh, because of the imagination adults need to interact with kids at that age. She told me she was bad at pretending ... that she didn't have the patience for it. I remember laughing at her admission.

...

Well if it isn't years afterward and all you want to do is play and pretend and your imagination is bigger than the sky. Last night, you wanted me in your room. You instructed me to lie in your bed, and be the baby. You covered me up and told me to close my eyes and go to sleep.

I have this pretend-thing on lock-down!



With my eyes closed, I could feel your breath hot on my face, so I cracked an eye open.
Hey baby, want something to eat?

I obliged you, feeding me an entire bottle of juice, then a Nuk for dessert.
Hey baby, go to sleep!

As you wish.

*As an aside, I should mention that motherhood has never been easy. You were an easygoing infant, a trait that has transcended into your toddler years as well. But motherhood is not easy. I took you to the doctor when you had baby acne. I slept with my eyes open for a week when you had RSV. I cried all the way to Las Vegas when you were three months old. I saw you fall out of your stroller onto the cement. I feel like I do too little for you; I feel like I do too much. It ain't easy, kid. But it sure is sweet.