There are times when I can hardly recognize myself. I cannot believe how much of a total puddle-of-goo Mom I have become. I am shocked at how much I can blather on about my child. I am amazed that I can continually look at her and be caught breathless at how beautiful she is.
I used to mock Those Moms. Now I am one. Resistance is futile.
Stinkerbelle can get laughing, and has the most incredibly infectious belly laugh. It comes from way deep down inside, and when it gets going, people can’t resist laughing along. It is, according to most bystanders, A Great Laugh. And no matter how often I hear it, and see the joy in her face, and the twinkle in those big laughing eyes, I am still knocked out by it.
I catch myself marvelling at the sheer beauty of the kid. She and I will sit together in the morning, she on the bottom step and me on the floor in our foyer, as I put on her socks and shoes to go somewhere, and she will chatter on about what she wants to do or what we are going to do or whatever. And I will hear that sweet baby voice and look up into the prettiest little face, earnestly trying to tell me her story, and I find my nose getting that little prickly feeling as my eyes well up.
She almost never cries. She is so laid back, so easy going, so completely happy so often, that when she cries and those big tears form and her mouth forms that sad, soundless, heartbroken O — well, if ever I was heartbroken in my life by a man, the pain I feel at looking at my crying child is infinitely worse.
I realize anew, every day, how absolutely and completely we love this child.
And I could tell anyone, everyone about it. Easy peasy.
Just when I am blissing out all hearts-and-flowers-and-rainbow-unicorns-and-fairy-farts about The Wonder of That Baby, I look up and she’s marching in circles with a pumpkin bucket on her head and walks into the wall, or she’s spinning until she is so dizzy she does a Chaplin-esque drunken stagger past me and collapses in a heap, or I hear her holler “OH HAAAAALP!” from somewhere in the middle of a mess of something in the other room.
If it’s possible, I love THAT kid even more.
She cracks me up. She makes me smile.
Resistance is futile.