Catching Up to Her

One of my favorite games to play with Kevin is "books." Mostly this consists of us sitting in her room, pulling board book after board book out of a pink plastic tub. When I get tired of squeaky kitties and bunnies, bedtime stories that never make Kevin tired, and quaint board books from England that are hand-me-downs from my aunt who did her best to turn her girls into Englishwomen from Boise, I will usually sneak out and grab my book and pillow, then settle on Kevin's floor a few feet away and read while I wait for her to get tired of covering each and every book in drool.

Yesterday she decided to be more interested in my book than she was in her own. When it became obvious that Momma was not going to give up her toy, nor was I going to stop reading to play with her, Kevin gave me a wake-up call of epic proportions. 

For the first time in her life, she ran away from me.

I hadn't realized she could do that. 

I watched her out of the corner of my eye as she realized she was only a foot away from her doorway, which would lead to our blink of a hallway and a new world of possibilities for her: would she choose the bathroom, or Momma's room, or the kitchen/dining area? It isn't a big hallway, but it is big enough to contain more than one place to go. 

I heard more than saw the wheels turning in her head as she glanced back at me, assumed crawling position, and set off with a squeal and a giggle. Her little bum, clad in pink sweats that proclaim "cutie" across her tush, wiggled back and forth as she picked up speed and then put on the brakes and sat back to flash a toothless grin at me. "Are you coming, Momma?" 

And although she'd only made it a few feet, inches even, my heart broke because I could see all the years and miles ahead of us. She is so eager to move forward, and for that I am glad and sad and frustrated. Why does the baby stage flee so fast? Wasn't it just days ago that we were sitting beside an isolette in a hospital, cheering when she pooped and breathed on her own and sucked on a binky? And wasn't it yesterday afternoon when she started smiling and giggling, sitting up on her own and reaching for things and swallowing rice cereal for the first time? 

My mind flashes and suddenly I can see all the moments ahead of us. She is waddling across the living room on unsteady feet, wearing ribbons and ponytails, kissing her baby dolls, zooming around on a red tricycle wearing snow boots, pumping her legs to make her swing fly higher,  working on her spelling words at the kitchen table, plinking out her scales on a piano we don't even own yet, chasing a soccer ball and learning how to shoot a free throw and picking out a prom dress and having her heart broken by a stupid boy and choosing what college to attend and...growing up. 

I moved forward on my hands and knees and she picked up her pace and volume. She knew she wouldn't get far without me catching her. She wants me to catch up with her, I realized as I picked her up and cuddled and tickled her, her laughing all the while, grateful that for now at least, she wants me to follow along.

Are you coming, Momma?

Yes, baby. I'm with you all the way.