Just Like Mommy

I feel like life this week has been a series of lovely moments that have prompted me to ask two questions:

1. When did my daughter become her own little person?
2. Why does she want that little person to be so much like me?

On Tuesday morning, I woke up to the sounds of small, pajama-clad feet making serious contact with crib slats. This surprised me because I am usually up before Kevin--I love those 20-30 minutes of "me time" before I have to face the day. I drug myself out of bed, said a short prayer (aka plea for help), used the bathroom and then decided I was awake enough to attempt taking care of the toddler.

And as I walked in to her room, still very much resembling a zombie, my daughter started bouncing on her mattress, clapping her hands, and saying "YAY!"

I'm not sure whether she was more excited about her freedom from her crib or seeing me, but my psyche told me to just go along with the fact that seeing me somehow earned enough applause and cheering to rival the Golden Globe Awards.

That small, lovely moment (before I changed her poopy diaper) has had me smiling all week.

And yet, I find it bittersweet that each day when I go in to pick her up from her crib, I find someone new there. Each day she is different, changing, growing. Two weeks ago, she could only walk a few steps without help. Now, she can walk anywhere she chooses, but she still decides to come and take my hand and lead me wherever she wants to go. Sometimes this means leading me away from hampers of unfolded laundry, or a half-unloaded dishwasher, or more often than not, a half-composed email to my husband. I have realized, however, that most of the time she is right in that where ever she leads is more important: to the fridge to get her sippy cup so we can settle in for a cuddle, to her room to read some books, to the window to see the birds outside. I have also learned that this week is only the beginning of her leading me, teaching me, reminding me what the most important task of the day is.

And some days, that means handing her the deodorant after I've put it on in the morning and watching her try to rub it underneath her arms (the cap on, of course). And some days it means she pulls out my journal and the pen I keep in the wire binding and pretends to write on the lined pages. And some days it means she'll only eat her toast if it is a full piece like mine. And some days it means handing her a washcloth for her to "fold" while I am doing laundry.

Her entire goal in life at the moment is to be just like Mommy. 
Flattering, yes. 
Daunting, very.

Thus she has defined my entire goal in life at the moment: to be a better person, so my little, not-quite-three-foot-tall reflection is someone we both can be proud of.