Entry #677230, added on 11-22-09 @ 6:24 pm EST
Entry Access Restriction: None.
| holding some moments forever is the goal | Entry #677230 |
I finally finished painting the antique vanity for the wee one's room after promising her I would finish 'next weekend', some time in May. I can't explain the tardiness because there have been countless wasted moments between now and then where I could have quite easily done it, but until yesterday I didn't feel the push. I got up and was coerced into going swimming with them, after saying 'No' about five times to M. who pleaded with me to go, but only when my girl looked at me with those blue eyes of hers and added the wonderful 'But, mom! It's only fun when you come, too. I really like being with you!' did I relent. I went without the makeup and without washing my hair because, M. assured me, I could take a long, lazy, steamy shower at home directly afterward. So, I went, and I frolicked with them in the shallow end because I am the sort who likes to feel something solid beneath my feet.
I was not prepared, though, for the goings-on in a locker room. About six middle-aged to old-aged women of various shapes and sizes standing around the room completely naked, talking about the advantages of this pool over the other one, the colour they like in terms of walls in the ladies' locker, the fact that it has seemed less busy lately. Oh, where to avert my eyes when big, bushy masses were seemingly begging for my attention? What to concentrate on when long, droopy breasts of varying areolar pinks and browns seemed to dangle in every direction? I didn't want to draw attention to myself by shutting myself away in a stall while the rest of them chatted breezily and easily in their naked state, so I carefully came up with a way of dressing while wrapped in a towel. It worked, and when I told M. he laughed and said it's the same with the men's locker room, that men seem to have just as much of a liking for talking about the weather while their balls hang low as the women with the unsupported mammaries do. Are we prudes because we like to keep our business to ourselves and because it baffles us slightly that other people seemingly have no problem with showing what they got?
Probably.
I came home and immediately got to work tearing apart the wee one's room. She's a 'big girl now' she keeps telling me, and it rips at my heart a little every time she says it, but I can't stop it and shouldn't want to. I took the changing table we've been using for book and toy storage out of her room, and felt a cry coming on because I pictured every stage of babyhood in it. I don't miss the diapers, but I miss the baby who needed them. Anyway, I moved furniture around, I sorted through 'stuffies' and removed only three with her permission, because each of them appear to have some kind of sentimental importance to her. Even 'Toilet Cow', the small cow who we found in the toilet after she attempted to give it a bath was declared saved, and I felt frustrated at the fact that my girl has inherited her father's inability to let things go. I have it too, but I draw the line at things that have been in the toilet.
The finished product was lovely, with a stained glass lamp right next to her bed that she can turn on and off herself, to her utter amazement. It looks so grownup, she'd exclaimed on seeing it, and I nearly cried again, because it does and it is. Then, today, she added a photo of her daddy to the vanity top, and asked for one of me too, and it's a little strange, seeing your photo next to your child's bed, because it reinforces the reality that they're developing their own wants and needs, that they are slowly coming into their independence, and that one day, perhaps, all I'll ever be is a picture on the nightstand. So, yes, I cried a little thinking of it this way.
Then, tonight, after a day of watching her from the doorway, her little body perched on the chair looking out the window, arranging her treasures in the drawers and flipping her light on and off while listening to her little music box, my heart seemed to rise and catch in my throat. I miss my baby, and I am already missing my girl in front of me, because next year and the year after that the girl I know today will be different; she'll be older, she'll be wiser and she won't need me as much. I found her to be excrutiatingly adorable as I watched talk to herself while fiddling with the photos, making sure they were exactly where she wanted them, and when she turned to see me watching her, I was embarrassed to find that I was on the cusp of a crying jag. She beamed at me, and I apologized for standing there without her knowing, and she said 'That's okay, mom! I like having you around.'
I came downstairs and went about making meatballs and roasting garlic for the tomato sauce and decided to sit for a moment and catch some television. She came up to me, asked to hug me, and immediately climbed up onto my lap. She faced me, and when I felt her eyes on me, I stared back at her and saw that there was seriousness in her face, a connection being made that did not require words and I stared back into her eyes, silent.
'Oh mom,' she breathed, her eyes fluttering, 'I've never loved anyone as much as I love you.'
'That goes double for me, Kitty Kat.'
Then, she fell asleep, and I schemed for a way to keep that moment forever.
After some time, I remembered that I had this journal, and that if ever it had a purpose it was for moments just like these.
|
© Copyright 2009 katwoman45 (UN: katwoman45 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
katwoman45 has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
|
Content Rating Notice: Recommended for Readers 18 Years and Older Only
Static Items
Books
Forums
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
