I was overwrought about her future than appreciating her now.
I flinched at each developmental stage. I craved for her to stay little.
Whenever she outgrew another set of those adorable tiny clothes and cute little shoes, I couldn’t help but tear up.
Whenever another new tooth popped up from her toothless gums, I crumpled a little out of fear of those sharp bites and a little out of missing her toothless grins.
The chubbiness began to disappear before I got time to say goodbye. I wasn’t ready to part with the sweetest cuteness of my tiny miracle.
I questioned myself –
Do I really want her to stay little? I know staying little is cute, but practically speaking, Would I not take her to a therapist if she had a developmental lag? I never wished for it. Yet, I wanted her to stay little.
Doesn’t “staying little” mean “stop growing”? I didn’t understand what I wished for. Crazy me! I’m sure every mother (or most of them) experiences the same craziness.
This one question changed my perspective. I realized happiness is found in the little things. At the same time, I don’t deny the bitter-sweet feeling that all these moments carry.
Whenever she repeated another new word after me, I tickled pink.
Whenever she mimicked me folding the clothes, I was beside myself with joy.
Whenever she expressed her love with the lick-kisses on my face, I just bliss out.
Whenever she gave me love-bites, I screamed in pain, but the scars left behind remind me of love. I relate it to my cute aggression.
When she started calling the love of my life as “Daddy”, my heart filled with glee.
When she took her first step without any support, I was proud of her tiny giant leap.
When she first climbed onto the bed without much struggle, I was amazed at her super skills.
When she runs over to hug me and hide between my legs, I love being her stronghold.
When she emulates my cooking patterns and tries to feed me, I feel cock-a-hoop over her motherly achievements.
When she runs around helping me dry clothes or arrange shelves with her perfect imperfections, I’m proud of my little helper.
When she helps me pick things up, I’m proud of my tiny achievements as a mom.
When she started responding to my “Go, get the ball”, I was overjoyed.
When she runs away to darling daddy to escape mommy’s grip for lunch, I find it funny.
When she sees me brushing my hair, the amazed look in her eyes fills me with pride.
When she finds a doggy, I admire her animated face with lit up eyes and I love the way she calls out “Bow”.
When I saw her button eyes filled with amusement as she took her first fun rides in the mall, a sense of exuberance filled my soul.
When she tries to fill the shopping cart with loads of chocolates, running back and forth from the chocolate rack to the billing counter in the supermarket, I see a mini me and relive the joys of my childhood.
When I see her little imitations of sitting like grandpa, sleeping like mumma, walking like dada, my eyes sparkle with anticipation of witnessing more of that cuteness.
Sometimes I miss capturing those sweet charming parodies, but they’re treasured in my heart forever. I’m excitedly looking forward to all the amazing things she’s going to do in her life.