Maybe it's motherhood or maybe it's just me-hood, but sometimes I am so caught up in her bumps and scratches and milestones that I forget to feel the sheer joy of her. I'm busy googling eczema creams and when-do-allergies-start and when-do-I-need-to-worry-that-she-isn't-talking-much. I'm busy buying detangler because her baby hair is finally thick enough to snarl, worrying that the brush I'm using is a bit too hard for that sweet scalp. I'm consumed by correcting the tiny portion of the world I can control, hoping that feels like love to her someday.
But. The base of her neck will keep itching. Her new shoes will cause blisters. She'll bump her head on the dining table. And still she thrives, tears replaced quickly with that quizzical eyebrow scrunch, as if she dares the world to get in her way. She is a tank, in the dearest way. She plows through every anxiety I dream up, pummeling her big brother with a force that surprises us both. She is fearless when she wants to be and I like to think she gets that from me.
So I'm trying to feel that fearless joy more often than the ache of anxiety. Angry welts, bumped heads, diaper rashes...all these discomforts when she's so new to this life, and still she cackles when she chases her brother, grins when I ask for a hug. The speed with which she rebounds is astonishing. There is no time for tears when there is a world to explore! I know the discomforts won't always be minor, won't always be problems I can fix. So for now, I'll enjoy the power I have to soften the world around her, treat her discomforts, and smooth her path. Angry welts are no match for Mama.
