My favorite thing that you say might be something I hear almost every day;
“Mommy, I wanna hold you.”
What you mean by that is that you want me to pick you up. But I think it means more than that. Because when I hold you Emmy, you do hold me too; in more ways than one. When you hold me, you wrap your arms all the way around my neck so they criss cross in the back, locking me in, enclosing me tight. You tuck your head right in and I bury my face in your unruly dark hair, the rest of the world pausing for that moment with you. That’s a good moment right there, Em.
I have some other favorites too-like when you know I’m worried or upset you say,
“Take a deep breath, Mommy…It’s ok, it’s ok…” while you hold my cheek and nod your head.
Empathy flows from your little soul and I didn’t teach it to you. It’s all wound up and knitted into your genes, into the very essence of who you are. It can seem so peculiar when I try to reason it all out, the little different things you say and do. But then I stop trying to explain it and, relieved, I shrug my shoulders and decide I’m so very grateful for each of them, explainable or not.
You like your nails painted purple now and you tell people you like their shirts or their boots, a little fashionista in the making. You ask to wear other women’s jewelry and I think you may know now that you pretty much get what you want with those requests. But before people think you’re all sugar and spice, you call one of us a “mean head” and we hide our laughter and tell you that’s not nice. Your scream can rival an emergency siren in volume, those little lungs an impressive force. I know I need to come looking for you fast when I call your name and you respond with “Nothing!” This absolutely means you are squeezing out an entire tube of toothpaste or decorating your clothes with permanent marker. Just like your siblings, you can bring me right to my wit’s end but you’ve got a knack for bringing me right back, your shenanigans changing to affection at the drop of a hat.
But that thing you say, that you want to hold me…that might just be my favorite thing of all right now. Even though you’re not saying what you mean, what you do say slows my rushing down to a full stop. So I can let you lock me in again. I don’t think I’ll ever correct you-who knows…maybe you know exactly what you’re saying.
I can’t imagine a different life, sweet girl.
Thanks for holding me, Emmy.