She toddles through the living room, pants on her head. Her face plastered with a crooked tooth smile. I love her with all my heart. She’s my baby, growing more and more every day. I sit on the couch and watch her clumsily make her way to my husband’s recliner. She stops at the base and looks up at it like it’s a mountain she’s determined to climb. She places her hands onto the front of the arm, and slowly brings her tiny right leg to the foot rest. She hoists herself enough to replace her right leg with her left, placing the right into the seat of the chair. Once successfully climbing her mountain, she giggles and claps in glee, clearly proud of herself. I praise her and tell her how strong she’s getting. She entered a climbing phase around two weeks ago, another mark on the Big Girl calendar. The thoughts of her growing up hit me like a train and my eyes water, only enough to sting. My baby is two years old. It seems like yesterday I was in the hospital holding her in my arms for the first time.
“What are you naming her?” the nurse asks.
“April, her name is April.” I smile and kiss my child’s head.
“She’s beautiful, just like her mother.” My husband wraps his arm around my shoulders.
“She’s half you too babe.” I kiss his cheek. We have been waiting for this day since we got married. We waited three long years. The time alone was great, don’t get me wrong, but there was a tiny hole in both our hearts that could only be filled by the patter of tiny feet on the kitchen tile.
I find myself staring at my sweet April, a faint smile playing on my lips. I never knew that I could love someone this much. She climbs down from the chair and removes the pants from her head. She walks to my feet and her arms reach up, asking to be held. I stoop to pick her up and she climbs on to me like a monkey, giggling. The sound makes me smile no matter what mood I’m in. I detach her from my neck and place her in my lap. She buries her head into my chest and wraps her arms as far around my torso as she can, signaling that it’s time for bed. I set her aside long enough to stand up. I grab her, set her on my hip and take her upstairs to her room.
Her arms are sleepily tangled around my neck and I can see she’s struggling with the brink of sleep through the bobbing of her head. It takes a moment to adjust her relaxed body into a position into an easier position to lay her down. Once she’s bedded down, I kneel beside the bed and sing her a little prayer:
Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord, my soul to keep;
Guide me safely through the night
and wake me with the morning's light.
I quietly stand, and walk out the door. Looking back at my sleeping daughter, the love I have for her washes over me. My darling,
April.