Thursday, September 27, 2018

Eight Years a Mother

Eight years ago today, we rode in a van that pulled into a driveway where a little girl wearing a green and pink dress and red, shiny shoes stood waiting for us. I still wish she hadn't been waiting alone. But I got out of that van soon enough, and she allowed me to pick her up (brave girl), and she wasn't waiting or alone anymore. The rest is our own personal family history, of which some details will always stay between just us. But that was the moment that I tag as the one that I became a mother, that moment that she allowed me to lift her into my arms and introduce myself.

It has been an extraordinary pleasure to be her mother these eight years. I am lucky, and I know it. I wouldn't want anyone else as my first child, and that's a fact. I feel like I won the lottery. She is diligent and kind and has a mind which will not be satisfied until it knows every possible thing there is to know. She reads voraciously, works hard at the things which don't come easy to her, can cook things that no one has taught her to cook if she just gives it a go a few times. She always gets into the bath late and always gets away with it. She puts up with a lot of nonsense from the rest of the family. Letting some small things slide is only fair.

I love her endlessly. I have from the beginning. Eight years. What a privilege.

1 comment:

  1. I went to high school with Jarod. I have followed this story from the beginning. I love it, and love the family that you have become. Thank you for being willing to share with us the beautiful story of how a family can be.


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