Yesterday, I was attempting to clean up my massive mess of a bedroom, where a summer's worth of "stuff" has accumulated since we arrived home, and I basically needed to create pathways for my husband and I to dress and go to bed. (I'm working on it, honey!) Anyway, I'm elbow deep in swimwear and medical papers when I notice that Emily, who is 16 months old, is playing with Brad and I's engagement picture. I waded through the piles of extra pillows and clothes that need to be mended (aka "the pile of stuff that will sit there...and sit there...and sit there...) and found Emily with the picture, exclaiming "Daddy!", pointing to him on the picture, and kissing him. Awwwww....
"Where's Mommy?" I asked, motioning to the picture.
She looked down at the picture, back at me, pointed to Brad and said, "Daddy!"
"Yes, there's Daddy. Do you see Mommy?"
Blank stare.
A whatta? Child, I grew you in my body. I suffered through all-day-sickness, heartburn, and an aversion to all things sweet (gasp!) and pushed you out without any medication. That lady sitting next to your Dad? That's me!
I covered up my hair on the picture. "Where's Mommy?"
No dice.
I have no real sadness about this...more for what it stands for. I want to continue to be around for the time when I'm part of her whole world, then when I'm the meanest mom there is and every word I utter is a drag to listen to, and then again when she has reached the point where she'll realize how much love a mother can hold in her heart for her children. God, please allow me to be around long enough for my baby to know who I am. To have memories of me of her own, not just through stories or through the things I write. Please pray for all of the parents going through their own medical journeys, who each carry this ultimate fear in their hearts.
In the meantime, she handed me the picture with a, "Here go, Mama." I went and had a tickle session with that little girl and gave her an extra cuddle before naptime. She may not remember it, but I always will.
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