In the last couple of weeks as we've been in the middle of the umpteenth repetition of some song, game, or sound, I've thought about what I might feel when when you stop asking for them.
In the last couple of weeks, I am singing you to sleep more often than not. It's usually "Baa, Baa, Black Sheep". Every time I finish you say "more". And then the "more" gets softer and softer as you fade away. Then you ask to switch positions so that you can rest your head on my shoulder.
When the "more" gets soft enough I start cutting out one of the repeated stanzas so that the song loops tightly and you don't have space to ask for more. Then you don't have any reason to wake up again.
I tried counting the iterations one day but lost count after about 30. It's so interesting me that I just don't care. I just don't care how many times she asks for it. I love that she likes me to sing to her and that she can fall asleep to the sound of my voice and with our bodies heart-to-heart.
Some days I come close to being annoyed about how often she asks me to pick her up or the very inconvenient timing of when she wants to be picked up. Most of the time I'm happy to hold her and talk closely or smooch her cheeks/chin/nose repeatedly. But what about that day when she no longer lets me pick her up, nevermind stops asking to be picked up? My heart will certainly break at least a little. Every stage has its unique gems (and unique challenges) so what has God designed to replace being able to hold our children? Or have them sit on our laps while we read a book? Does anything compare? I guess we settle for hugs.
As you grow and develop your personality, I very much enjoy seeing your silliness and absurd ideas come out in how you play and how you use toys and non-toys.
This week and last, you've taken hold of your large birthday balloon (which has no helium but because of its very long stick, can float high off the ground), and marched through the living room and kitchen in a circle over and over while listening to the "hamster dance" techno music coming from a birthday card you were given. Yes, with everyone who's cared for you the last two weeks (grandparents, parents, yours truly) you've marched around that loop. The adult holds the card and holds your hand, you march deliberately, never looking back or looking up and with a firm grip on that ever-important balloon. What goes on in that little mind of yours? You're so weird. I love you so much.
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