winds of change

these days the wind is quietly shuffling out summer and her hot rays, and in the same breeze, eagerly pushing in a softer warmth which is tinged with a crisp change. i am no longer momma, i have now become mommy. this little difference is an earthquake in my world, leaving ripples of aftershocks in her wake. her voice emphasizes the eee at the end and i shiver with delight each time it reaches my ears. i can't put my finger on why she has suddenly switched my title, because rory doesn't refer to me as mommy and i don't use it to refer to myself, but i welcome it. the same way i welcome the fact she is morphing into my little friend, as opposed to this little being i am responsible for. this little friend who conspires with me how to build the best fort possible, when we should be picking up and getting dinner ready. this little friend who i enjoy a frozen yogurt with on a sunny september afternoon. this little friend who makes me belly laugh and approach everything with the fascination of a toddler.

there are, in fact, advantages to being an extremely petite 4'11" momma; i am the only one at the park climbing on the play structures with my girl, counting down our descent from the top of the slides, holding her tight as we twist down the slippery slopes, her laughter exploding into the air promptly upon our arrival at the bottom.

i want to be the mommy that lets her jump on the bed, eat ice cream for breakfast, and teaches her how to feed her soul and see it grow to the breadth of its capacity, value her self worth over a boy's opinion, and knows how to stand up for herself in a way that is bold, and yet with rounded blurry edges that fade into kindness. you can be nice and at the same time not take anyone's bull; it is a fine, intricate, delicate balance.

i want to be the mommy that is there; every moment of every day, in every week of every month. the mommy that is present in each crack of a moment when you recognize it and poof...it starts to slip away.

the other night she was carrying around a photo from our trip to san francisco; she had scribbled on the backside of it with pen. for half a second i was ready to be frustrated over the fact she had ruined it. but she had this deep pride in her eyes when she held it up to my face, she was showing off her masterpiece, and she was utterly elated to be doing so. how could i be upset over that? i can print another photo any day, however i cannot recreate a moment so vital to her budding confidence.

she is saying more, owwie, and moon these days. my favorite thing right now is when she says something and i figure out what it is. she grins like the cheshire cat; message received. she gets so excited, her entire body shows her glee. communicating with her in this way is a new ballgame; one i am  pumped to be a part of. is there anything better watching the little being you helped create, learning every day, yet completely extraordinary skills?

lately in the mornings when we wake up, i watch her smooth movements, her toddler body doing things that seem so mature, her eyes sparkling with possibility, her teeth set into a grin, ready for the adventures of a new day. i stare at her and wonder how someone so perfect could have come from a body such as mine, where so much is wrong.

it is really quite incredible.
still.

So Much

I see the world through Sookie's eyes lately and it is piercingly incandescent.

Deep down I know she has all of life's secrets close to her little beating heart and that is why she is so blissfully happy 99% of the time. In the very short span she has been in my life, she has taught me more than anyone else has...ever. It seems nearly impossible that just two short years ago, she did not exist. The world could learn so much from her. Perhaps that is the epitome of a mother's delusion for the power of her own child, but oh well. I feel it, so I'll document it and write about it. She wakes up with a grin engraved on her porcelain face and she goes about her day finding humor and light in the seemingly mundane. She has so much love for everything and everyone; she waves and blows kisses to strangers like it's her job and she's running for president. Except the emotion behind her friendly gestures is achingly genuine.

I don't like to dwell on what is wrong with life, but I've made a lot of excuses. There was so much holding me back, but I'm throwing it all away. The first year of motherhood is hard. It is also sweet, drastic, stunning, overwhelming, and amazingly profound. I'm turning a new leaf in various ways and ventures. And it feels so good it kind of hurts. Jogging alongside spring with her awakening, renewal, and insane drive to be better; I'm pushing, leaping into new chapters and saying goodbye to self deprecating guilt.

Life is an ongoing improvement project, isn't it? I don't ever want to lose that fire to be better.
 
One of the many lessons Sookie has made me concretely aware of? You can embark on each new day as if it is a new year, a fresh beginning to get it all put together, strung up, turned up loud and bright. And you go as far as you can with that momentum, but the really sweet secret that can elude us is that you can continue to build on that day the next morning, or if need be, you tear it all down and start from scratch. You keep repeating this until you hit a day, a groove so funky and vibrant, that you run with it as fast as you can, for as long as you can.

The changes in her daily are momentous, and yet they have soft, blurry edges that only people around her every day would even notice. Her hands are getting big. Like, so very big. I don't think a word exists to envelop how grateful I am that I get to be a part of her every day so I notice details such as this one.

I love to see her reach for me.

When there are two arms you had a part in creating and they are reaching out for you, and only you will do; these things morph into a whirlwind and there is something so ridiculously special about that it smashes everything you ever were and rearranges you into something new, someone wiser, someone more aware.