I Was Her First Home

I've had this post in my head for a while. So many words to be said, so many emotions, thoughts.

M is currently asleep on me. Her face is within an inch of my neck so that, if I turn my head just a teeny bit, I can kiss her cheek. And trust me, I'm taking full advantage of The Toddler staying in one place. I can feel M's sweet breath on my neck, too.

She hasn't slept on me like this in months. And months. And months. From 12-15 months, every.single.nap. was taken on my chest. Then suddenly, it stopped. Not by me. But my little girl was growing up.

Right now, The Husband is in the living room watching a football game recorded from this week. So, it's just my girl and I in this room.

The only noise I hear is the humming from the laptop and the clicking of the keys as I type.

It's rather serene, I'll admit.

But I have these feelings that I'm not sure what to do with.

M turns two on Monday. Two years old. I honestly have no idea where the time went.

I remember sitting in this exact spot on the bed when M was just three days old. She was resting on my legs and just looking at me, and I at her. Mother and daughter, new to each other on the outside world.

But I already knew M. I knew what foods she liked, what time of day she wanted to be more active. I knew her hiccups, her movements, her heartbeat. She was a part of me for ten months.

I was her first home.

I loved my child since I knew of her existence inside me. I loved her more every day there after. It's all I knew to do. It's all I know to do now.

Yet I'm feeling that her upcoming birthday is bittersweet. Two years old. That sounds so .. toddler-like? And less baby-ish? And frankly, I don't like that.

I enjoy every single day with M. I do. We color together. Have full on conversations. Sing and dance together. Cuddle together. Paint together. Draw with chalk and blow bubbles together. I mean, we're best buds. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

I've watched my gift from G-d grow into a spectacular person. She just amazes me with her grace, humor, smarts, personality. I'm in awe of her. I truly am.

But this parenting thing isn't for the weak. My heart? It's in M. So when she scrapes her knee, like she did yesterday, with full on blood dripping? My heart hurts a little. And when M is sad because someone took her toy? I feel my heart strings get tugged.

I want to keep M safe. Away from bullies.  Away from any negativity. Away from anything that may hinder her.

I just want my little M to always be the person she is today, at this very moment: innocent, trusting, loving, smart, witty, happy, healthy, beautiful.

But I know I can't always shelter her. Because in a way, I  would be the one hindering her. And I never want to do that. Ever.

I've learned that, as parents, we live with our hearts outside of our body. And that's good and all, and the way it's supposed to be, I'm guessing.

But M is my heart. She is the reason I live and breath and eat and do what I do to make her have a happy and enjoyable life.

So when she grows, and I see she seems a bit taller after a good night's rest, my heart aches a little. Or when M says yet another paragraph's worth of sentences out of nowhere, my heart aches a little.

And don't get me wrong. It's a good ache. I promise.

But, where's my baby that was just born? How did she get to be two years old? How do I slow down time?

And so, this time is bittersweet. She's growing into a strong and absolutely fantastic person that her Dad and I just could not be more proud of. But, I still see her as my baby, when I know full well she no longer is one.

I also am absolutely certain that babies and toddlers and children know when something is going on with their parent{s}. M knew I needed snuggles tonight before I did. She was sleeping next to me on the bed, sat up and saw me, said, "Momma, up?" And as I promptly placed her on my chest, she fell right back to sleep.

And feeling her sweet cheek against mine, her sleeping breaths, and her hug around my neck, the bittersweet-ness of her growing up mostly faded.

Sure, M will be two on Monday. But she's still my baby.

She always will be.

After all, I was her first home.