Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Lillie turns 4.
You turned four in all your laughing, bubbling, emotional glory. My life journey with you is so completely different than the other girls. You challenge me every day. I have learned lately to stay a little calmer and see you. REALLY see you. Look deep into your eyes and try to listen and understand who you are. I have been defensive for too long and am ready to let you completely in. Even if it means having no control when you break down. My newest goal is just to love you with everything I have. To hold you even when I'm busy and stressed. To trust that that is usually what will patch up our day.
We have adopted your way of speaking in our house. Things like "Dawizzer it!", "I wuzz you", "Wet's do it togezzer", to name a few. You are particular about your hair, about the way your jammies fit, about how I lay the blanket over your body at bedtime. You like your cereal in a certain bowl, you have a thing for dolphins, and you are happy about our move to "Calissornia". Your binky-induced lisp is still very apparent.
You will talk to you anyone. Any mom, any dude smoking a cigarette, any lady at the store. You don't care where they've been or who they are. You will just walk right up with your little calf muscles flexed, tummy sticking out, and ask them what they're up to.
In some of your photos you are holding my hand, leading me, often to where I have never been. You pull me fast and you draw your breaths in deep and quick as you explain where you want to go in short spurts of excited language. Your back stiffens with ambition and your brow is tight and stressed. You have goals. And it's up to me to help you meet them.
When I'm not trying to calm you down, I find myself wishing I was more like you. You take life by the back of the arm, march it down the hall, and force it to do pushups. You spit in the face of those who try to take what's yours or tear you down. You fight for what you want no matter how much energy it takes, no matter how many people are in the room. I have rarely seen you give up. You only share because that is what is socially acceptable, not because you want to. You are made of a hundred yards of ribbon, some birds, a bull, several fragrant flowers, Hulk, some freshly burning firewood, a crisp juicy apple and a flash of lightning.
That's what you are to me, a conglomerate of emotion and strength and need and I love you with all my heart, my incredible little thing.