Wednesday, February 17, 2010
For my booshy girl.
Our relationship has a soundtrack. Beautiful music, some fun, some slow, some funky. Your music comes from your chest, pouring out of you, and wraps around me like a cocoon.
Did you choose me? Or did I choose you? Were you nervous to come here? Did you know how we would adore you?
Last night you and I went to the store together. You had a particularly emotional day and I wanted to get you alone. You're so dimensional. Like a planetarium. I could just stare at you and listen and wonder for hours.
You're a million shining stars.
You wanted to sing Christmas songs. But not the ones that most people know. These were the made-up kind. Where you sing in some convoluted melody and mixed in are words not of our language. They're formed somewhere in the back of your brain, only allowed to display themselves when you don't think many are listening. I laugh and you wonder what's so funny.
Today at a routine check-up, the pediatrician asked me lots of questions about you. I wish you could have seen yourself through my eyes. Some things are just so clear. The way he said you were, "75th percentile for height and weight and you look plenty healthy to him...". I measured you with my eyes, weighed you with my soul and your limitless potential swirled its way around my head. I felt heavier and lighter at the same time. How can I raise you? How can I not?
One moment I feel I don't deserve to be in the presence of someone so intricate. And the next, I want to clutch you so close to me that no living soul will realize how outstanding you are. If they did, they'd want your constant companionship, and I wouldn't give that up for anybody.
There are lots of reasons why I love you. The fact that you draw for hours and all your people have fingers and eyelashes and bows and headbands. The fact that you bite your nails, get canker sores, hate jelly, love pickles and cucumbers and broccoli, and how you tell me that you're pretty. The fact that you are in love with your daddy and draw pictures of him bringing you flowers. I love your skinny fingers and lips. I love how you give your life to Grace.
There are lots of reasons. But most of all, it's your mammoth-sized heart.