October 8, 2009

Mommy went on a trip to a place called New Jersey. I don’t know what is new about this place, because I think it has been around for a long time. Anyway, she woke up really early to get to the airport for a 6:40 am flight. Needless to say, I did not wake up to say goodbye. Instead of sending me a story from “Trekker,” she wrote a quick story about her and me. Here is what she wrote:

Late night moments with Abigail:
In the middle of the night when I creep over to your room after I hear you call, you look so cuddly in your bed. You usually are calling for “paci” and sometimes you ask for a drink of water. I speak in hushed tones, as not to wake Daddy and Bella, and you follow my cue, as every sweet word you speak is a whisper, (even though they are also generally commands). You often say “hold you” or “sit” which of course I know means “pick me up (bring my blanket even if it is ridiculously cumbersome and often stuck in the bed) and cuddle with me on my rocking chair.” How can I turn down such a genuine invitation? No matter how tired I am or how much I want to be back in my own bed, I can’t resist a quiet moment showing you merely and ounce of the love I have for you. You curl into me (once, of course, I adjust the blanket and myself the way you want). You compromise too, as even though you are never sure what to do with your right arm, that you do not complain about. I know you are not sleeping because I can feel your face moving next to me and you constantly shift your arm, trying to find a comfortable spot. Often, I talk to you, and you respond in a quiet, almost secretive whisper.

Since I know that neither you nor I will actually sleep, as I begin to dose off, I start giving you the “two minute warning” about us both going back to bed so I will not be greeted in less than secretive tones of “no” if I dare give an abrupt declaration of returning to bed. I usually have no idea how many minutes go by and I so savor your cuddles in the quiet night, so I wait until my head nods again before getting you back into bed. Even if I know I will pay for it later, I would not miss those sweet moments as we fit perfectly (almost) in that chair together in the night.

Thank you my darling sweet girl for teaching me daily something that I did not know. Thank you for showing me the way you approach the world. As each hour we share rushes by like rapids in a river, thank you for reminding me to not just focus on getting through, but thank God for a beautify day and you to share it with, for challenges that we will conquer together and most of all, to enjoy the ride.

Even in your saddest moments, you are usually just seconds away from an all-out belly laugh. There is something to be said about that resilience that seems often lost in the grown-up world of seriousness. Thank you for teaching me, without every directly saying a word, about pure joy and the ability to find it at any given moment.