All the Hurtling & Barreling

One month from today, I will have a four-year old daughter.

November has always been a particularly sweet month for me- there is so much tied to this month. Of dates and times and places, and people and faces and belongings and remembrances and vows. So much has always happened this month.
So needless to say, my nostalgia and longing and memory meters are all in the red zone; pointing, pointing, pointing to everything that lives on in my heart. Just one, tiny month stands between three and four as we barrel and hurtle towards yet another 7th day.

The nurse who was assigned to me for the first 24 hours I was in labor was named Ann. The nurse who finally helped me deliver was named Trista. And the nurse who woke me up in the dark to give me drugs as my baby slept was named Karalee. I can't imagine going through something as awesomely large as childbirth without remembering each and every person who helped me throughout. So every November, when my remembering and reminiscing start to tangle and surface as December begins to stir, I think of those three women and the roles they don't even know they played in my life, four years ago.

Being in charge of a tiny human is unbelievable. I don't quite know how to pack the gravity of the task, or caliber of the gift into one sentence. As she grows and matures and develops, my tiny human makes me falter and question and fake it and study it so I can answer it. That she is now experiencing her own things and regaling in stories I will never see firsthand, like preschool, still shocks and amazes me. That we'll run into W's mom at Old Navy or N. at the library and she will just know who these people are! And introduce them to me! Makes my world tilt all off its axis!

I had to do the math of her months on a calculator just now. She is 47 months old today. I think Pampers finally stopped sending me her updates on a monthly basis, which is for the better. I can't stand other people telling me I have a preschooler! I know! I take her there everyday! I took her to kindergarten screening, I still watch her cry when the Widow Tweed has to release Tod to the wilderness to save his life in The Fox and the Hound, and I hear her whisper about her great-Grandma's dog, who passed away this summer after a long, fat, and lovely life. I know how she reasons; I understand her logic, appreciate her empathy, and encourage her defiance (albeit secretly). My tiny human is hell-bent on becoming a largish-sized human, both physically and emotionally whether or not I like it. It's been my absolute greatest pleasure and honor to be the rearer and Mama.

There's a song I can't stop listening to these days, as is my ever-lovin' nature.

No Fear of Heights, by Katie Melua.

I never walked near the edge
Used to fear falling
I never swam far from shore
Never tried the secret door

But when you give me love
When you give me love

I have no fear of heights,
No fear of the deep blue sea,
Although it could drown me,
I know it could drown me

I didn't wander in the woods
Used to fear the darkness
I didn't like getting deep
I was scared of what I couldn't keep

But when you give me love
When you give me love

I have no fear of heights,
No fear of the deep blue sea,
Although it could drown me,
I know it could drown me

No fear of the fall
No fear if it's with you that I fall
'cause nothing could break us,
No, nothing could break us, now

It resonates with me, word for word, because it's totally applicable to both parenting and childhood alike. Because? Neither of us- the lil' dude nor myself, still has any clue what we're doing. We're waking and breathing and laughing and apologizing and wiping tears and fearing while not, each day. Being girls in Uggs and lipgloss with over-sized handbags and even bigger visions just wondering when we can finally hang out with our besties. We're putting all our faith into every tomorrow, circling days on calendars and items in glossy catalogues until every wish comes true.

One month to go.
All the hurtling and barreling towards everything we can.