Every day, my little L.E. Fant crawls into my lap, takes my face into her little hands and declares, "Mommy special!"
And I don't know which warms my heart more: her spontaneous affections or the fact she has been told she is special often enough for the word to be a treasured part of her developing vocabulary.
"L.E. special," I respond with a tickle. And her face beams.
Rocking in a chair watching my baby nurse. His hands folded, his legs crossed. I stroke his legs and doze, slipping in and out with the rhythm of his suckling.
A moment of peace and contentment and perfection. I want to remember this moment. Etch it in my memory to recall when things are not so peaceful.
But such moments are fleeting and they disappear in the busyness of the day. Like the whiff of lavender floating on a Spring breeze, or that first sip of iced tea in the sweltering summer sun.
I feel, for a moment, fulfilled. At ease. My heart knows no yearnings, only contentment.
For a moment.
But such moments are fleeting.
Especially once you discover your two year old has blue hair. And no bangs. Because someone got hold of the toothpaste
and the scissors.
My little L.E. Fant, who used to be only this big:
has made her first successful trip to the potty. All because Daddy bought her one of these:
to quell her fear of falling in and being flushed away.
Before you know it, she'll reach her next major milestone: talking back.
And I don't know which warms my heart more: her spontaneous affections or the fact she has been told she is special often enough for the word to be a treasured part of her developing vocabulary.
