It was terrible. I was standing on a massive stage with spotlights pointing directly toward me. I knew my performance was bad, but I kept going because I was certain that to bow out would have been far more humiliating than completing my act. The music carried on and I did my best to find all the right notes. Thankfully, the harsh spotlights were nearly blinding me so I couldn’t see the thousands of eyes staring at me. I don’t know why I did this, but suddenly I decided that maybe if I would just “bust a move” my audience wouldn’t notice how bad my singing voice was. That’s when I began swinging my arms and shaking my hips in a way that only Carlton Banks could do. However, I knew that my moves and the music were completely out of sync and my humiliation only grew. Still, I kept going because I just had to finish. I mean, it was the Grammy’s.
Somewhere, a baby began to cry. I looked out into the crowd in search of the distressed baby, but couldn’t see past the dust speckles that flowed through the spotlight. The baby screamed louder and louder and finally I realized the identity of the baby. I shot up in bed and took in my surrounding. I wiped the sweat from my brow and breathed a huge sigh of relief. The baby was Meadow and she was calling me out of my nightmarish performance into her room so she could start her day.
Note to self: Next year, DVR Grammy’s and watch them the next day. . . in the daylight hours.
And so began my Monday morning.
After shaking off my Grammy performance and regaining my bearings, I pulled the blinds and looked outside. The sun was just beginning to peek over the trees and the grass was green without a trace of white snow. I checked the temperature and could not move fast enough to breathe in some of the crisp morning air.
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| See how fast I moved? I couldn’t even button Meadow’s sweater correctly |
Meadow and I slowly wondered our way through the neighborhood and watched as school buses picked up small children and our neighbors made their way toward work. Meadow grabbed my hand and walked by my side and then let go and explored on her own. I fought the urge to make her stay by my side and let her meander on her own.
As we danced between holding on and letting go the thought occurred to me, this is my last toddler. For a moment I grabbed a little tighter willing myself to remember the feel of her tiny hand in mine. I watched her close. . . the way she walked, the way she investigated, the way she examined every tiny stone that laid in her path.
As we returned to the house the wind began to pick up and a single, crisp, orange leaf flew into Meadow’s path. She stopped in her tracks and stared at this delicate piece of nature that danced before her. After a moment she began to follow the leaf and it teased her by running circles around her. I watched as Meadow made herself dizzy in an attempt to catch the leaf. I watched as joy filled her face and her eyes brightened with excitement. And once again I was reminded. . .
Of course we all know that all children are special and each age/stage comes with it’s own unique gift. I think the gifts toddlers give to us are the absolute awe and wonder they have with every little thing. When Charlie and Chanelle were Meadow’s age, I think I was in survival mode. I think I was just figuring it all out and trying to make it through each day. But with Meadow, I am able to see the world through her eyes and it’s incredible.
Meadow loves to show us her belly. We often say to her. . . where is your belly? She lifts her shirt and proudly taps her belly to make sure we all see. Over time, she has come to anticipate our question. While we were outside today I asked her, where’s the ball? I think she stopped listening at “Where” because this is what she did. . .
Meadow has helped me to notice the “little things” around me that I might otherwise overlook. I’m guessing that this is, in part, due to her fascination with everything. But also, I think it’s my own realization of how very quickly the time goes.
I want to remember as much of our story as possible. Things like Meadow’s knack for cleaning. . .
She doesn’t only do floors. . .
. . . she also unloads dishwashers.
I want to remember the joy of bathtime. . .
I want to remember making the living room floor into a quilt. . .
Afternoon quiet times. . .
And little imaginations doing their thing while I prepare dinner. . .
All of these little things I want to remember.
I love it when babies find their tummies–they always seem somewhat surprised when they look down and poke it. ; )