Wednesday, October 1, 2008
I worry sometimes that we spend too much time indoors, that I'm creating a hothouse flower. I want her to feel the wind and see clouds floating along in the sky. I want her to know the sounds of birds and I want her to pluck a blade of grass and marvel at it's simplicity. I want her not to notice all of the weeds in our yard. Oh wait, that's me.
It is with this in mind that I try to get Sophie out of the house for at least a little bit every day. Some days the weather conspires against us, so our out of the house has to be somewhere indoors. Some days our out of the house is little more than time spent exploring our own yard. Today we actually got out twice. First to the park, for a walk between her morning and afternoon nap, and later this afternoon we spent a half an hour or so rolling around the back yard.
There are not really many moments yet where I feel that my daughter loves me. I feel needed, oh yes, there is most certainly that. But loved? Not yet. I long for the day when she wraps her little arms around me and says I love you, mommy. I fantasize about that sometimes. Every time I lay her down to sleep, I whisper I love you in her ear. I don't want her to doubt for one single moment that she is my heart. In my head, I hear her small voice say it back. But only in my head. The lack of reciprocation at this point is expected. She is not developmentally there yet. I know this, but it doesn't stop the longing.
But this afternoon, as I lay on the back lawn, and she tumbled around me, we had a moment. She stood up and climbed on to my stomach, her little legs straddling me. She then laid down on my chest and tucked her head under my chin, wrapping her arms around me as she did. Smiling the whole time. In that moment, I felt more than just needed. She stayed there for perhaps thirty seconds and then rolled off to resume play. A few minutes later, she repeated her little snuggle. With these simple gestures, I forgot the sleepless nights and the frustration. It was, in every way, delicious.