8 whole months. And I will never be the same.
I am often overwhelmed at what lies before her. That she will have to endure really hard times, that she will sometimes feel alone. That there will be nights of her adult life spent wallowing in tears and Ben and Jerry's and the feeling that "this feeling might not stop". And the drama that was completely normal when I went through it myself, but to see this little person that I wish I could protect from all that - it is soul shattering.
And then I realize that that is life. And I can't protect her from life. I mean, that is really what she is here for.
There are so many things that I want to teach/show/influence her. Like how to poop in a potty. And to dance, even when someone is watching, like she just doesn't care. That sitting alone in the car with the windows rolled up in bumper to bumper traffic is always the best place to really belt out her favorite songs like she wrote them herself. That there is a huge benevolent force I call God and He loves her, and sometimes she will hear Him in the whistle of the wind or the laughter of a child and to stop and really tune in to that, because it awakens grace and serenity within a soul. And to play music, and to express her self discovery in vivid/amazing/intricate ways.
That she is the average of the 5 people she hangs out with most often, and to at least make sure that 3 of those people don't get into trouble as often as she does. And that it is usually better to pay the extra $20 for a better haircut, and to never EVER let anyone give her a home permanent. And to never be afraid to teach the world what she knows. And when in doubt, to keep her mouth shut.
And to have confidence in her ability to succeed, to love with her whole heart, to take the time to find out what she thinks about whatever instead of thinking what someone else thinks.
I want her to know how to find a great mechanic, to choose quality over quantity, to change her own tire, to buy a pair of jeans that look really great on her butt, never wear too much make up unless she is going to be on TV, and give an effective head butt.
I worry and cry and hope and dream and roll around under the weight of her life before me. Because what if I mess up?
And then I realize that here is this incredible little person. She is so small, and yet she is the biggest thing that has ever happened to me. Her little life is right before her. And me. And Charlie. And she is pulling herself up on her own two feet to face a lifetime/universe/rainbow of endless possibilities. And of course it seems huge to me. She is my precious little daughter. And I am humbled by her presence in my life.
She has already taught me so much about love and humility and vulnerability and compassion and humor and self worth. She holds the key to secrets I have long forgotten, brings color to truths which have paled and grayed in the weather of my own life. She has yet to discover the twinkling lights of possibilities which have grown dim as I've moved further from my own childhood. The twinkling possibilities that I am excited to see illuminating my path again.
She hasn't even circled the sun once, and I still have so much to learn from her.
I am truly fortunate.
She teaches me something new, something profound, something simple.
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