Two years ago I didn't know I could nurse while walking. Two years ago I had never had someone else's poop under my fingernails. Two years ago I'd never attempted to make pink horsey pancakes. Two years ago I did not routinely sing or narrate my actions at the grocery store. Two years ago if someone vomited I did not lunge to catch it. Two years ago I said "cocoa" and "milk" instead of "tocoa" and "milkies." Two years ago I could not have understood how much my parents love me, simply because I had never experienced it firsthand.
I get it now. I know what it is to be so fascinated with another human being that you can hardly bear to blink. I know how to love someone in such a weird, fanatical way that even her farts seem precious. I know that there is something fierce living within me now, something that would rise up and make me strong, even terrifying, if my child were ever threatened. I will forever be a better person for having been a mother, and that knowledge makes me adore her all the more.
And how could I not? Even if that primitive part of my brain weren't screaming at me to nourish and protect my offspring, I would still be head over heels for her. I love that she makes jokes by quoting Beatrix Potter at opportune moments. I love how enthusiastic she is about gardening. I love that she voluntarily runs through the sprinkler in fifty degree weather. I am proud of her every day for being such a perceptive, articulate person, and for the kindness she is already learning to show others. No daughter I could have imagined would have turned out half as good as the one I got.
Happy birthday, sweetest Geneva Lynn. Welcome to being two. I love you more than you can ever know... unless you have a daughter of your own someday.
June 9th, 2009
June 9th, 2010
June 9th, 2011