Thursday, October 7, 2010
Letter from Mama, v34
It's October and that means playoff baseball. Of course, that doesn't mean much for our beloved hometown team year after year, but nonetheless, this state is brimming with hope and on the edge of its collective seat believing again. There's such a lesson in this. We assume the opening series will end poorly. We'll remove our rally caps and pack away the gear. We'll shake our heads, sad, angry, disappointed in the way the season ended. But you know what? For the weeks between clinching the division and awaiting home-field advantage and pitching lineups, the hope took root once again. You can't help but feel yourself praying, reaffirming, predicting. It's simply human nature to have hope, to remain optimistic even when history has a nasty way of repeating itself, even when we continually have to face the giant. We're always the underdog in some sort of way, and we're always trying to slay some dragon. And those battles begin with hope. Believing in something bigger than ourselves, and giving in completely. This doesn't make us foolish, this isn't an example of insanity. This is life and how we live it. I hope you always have a burning sense of hope in your belly. Feel the fire and stoke it. For everything begins with hope.
I mentioned it earlier this week, but I think you're undergoing a change. Naps are a bygone thing of the past, though I am not convinced you don't need them. A few times a week on the 10 minute car ride home you'll pass out cold, mid-sentence. It is so sweet to have someone sleeping in their carseat again! Your face looks the same, same dimpled nose and Hollywood lashes, just less baby chub and soft lines than that of your infant profile. Yesterday morning, you absolutely lost your shit over a yellow sweater. Yes, a yellow sweater. I dressed a very sleepy you in tights and a dress, but once I got the sweater buttoned up and you woke up more, that was the end. You screamed, GET THIS THING OFF ME! so violently, I was completely surprised and taken aback at your early morning outburst at something so trivial. I removed the sweater as fast as I could, and you just sat in my lap and hugged me and cried and cried. I felt helpless; so I just held you and wiped tears and whispered Mama things to you until you calmed down. I know you struggle with communication and politeness on a daily basis, and how could you not. Life is hard. Growing up is hard, and can be scary. You're completely normal, just another little girl learning the ropes.
So far, you're doing great.