Well, last weekend I found out I’m pregnant with my second child and that exciting (but very surprising) news put everything to a halt for me. Well, for the most part, all of my creative endeavors came to a halt. I just needed some time to focus on the game-changing news that a new little human will be added to our family in December.
But I’m slowly coming back around to writing. Life has taken me and my family in a new direction, so naturally, I feel that my writing should as well! I’m just excited for the next chapter that is to come and I would like my writing to reflect that accordingly!
So, I don’t baby my 21-month-old daughter. If she falls and hurts herself, there are two responses I give her based on the degree of the fall. The first is, “You’re fine, it scared you more than it hurt you.” And she’s up and running again. The second is, “Come here, let me make sure you’re okay.” And her response to that is the main reason why I won’t and don’t baby her. She fights me, or her father, or anyone for that matter when we check for blood, scraps, or any injuries. She goes from crying because she fell, to crying because she got picked up for inspection to make sure she’s okay. And ten times out of ten she’s up and running again before those tears have even dried. She did that when she fell in Jackson Square in New Orleans and she did that when we were home in Alabama and she face planted on concrete from running too fast.
I just don’t baby her, mainly because she hates it. And secondly because I don’t want my child growing up thinking the entire world has to stop when she gets an ouchie. I don’t want her to take something minor and make it major because of the attention she can get from it. She’s an only child and the only grandchild for all her grandparents, so she has more than enough attention. But my firstborn is a sassy, strong-willed, independent, rough and tumble little girl. She gets up after a fall and she goes even harder than before when playing. She laughs more than before the fall. She’s tasted concrete, grass, carpet, and dirt, and survived. She’s done free falls off the couch, fallen of the bed, ran into walls, slipped on hardwood, smashed her fingers, fallen off her dad’s lap while swinging, busted her lip, and the list goes on, and it will go on as she gets older.
If it were left up to me, I would duct tape to her crib and call it a day. But she’d figure a way out of the duct tape and then climb out of the crib. She’s a fighter. She’s determined. She’s a pint size of fierce. She’s a little version of me, and that’s the third and final reason I don’t baby her -I hate that shit!
I was having a bad day a few years ago. I’m talking walking-through-Target-mad bad kind of day. I wasn’t a wife or a mother then, so my temper often went uncheck. But this particular day while storming through Target, I went through the children’s department. This little girl was sitting in a basket and just locked her little brown eyes on me. Next thing I know, she broke out into a smile and I couldn’t help but smile back. My bad mood just went away in that instant because if there is one thing that is hard to fight is smiling back at a child. A child’s smile is one of the most innocent and precious things in this world. It’s genuine and honest and a reminder that there’s more good than bad in the world.
And now I have a little girl of my own. I have witnessed her have the same effect on people whenever I take her somewhere. She has that effect on me and my husband every single day! Her smile makes all the difference in the days we have. I don’t take those innocent and precious moments for granted. They don’t last forever.