So Lil’ Miss Ella turned one back in July. We had a grand ole party with our closest friends and family. Ella smashed her chocolate cake and opened one present before becoming enthralled with the wrapping paper.
As I put her to bed on her birthday night and we read our usual stories, we read “Where the Wild Things Are.” I read about Max traveling through time to “where the wild things are” and I began reflecting on my own journey from a far off land over the last year.
As my little girl (now a toddler, according to the BabyCenter weekly email) drifted off to sleep, my thoughts “sailed through night and day, in and out of weeks, and over almost a year” to the time Miss E was just a newborn.
She squeaked her newborn squeaks and cried her newborn cries until we said “hush little one” and tamed her with our magic trick of holding her close and playing John Mayer and Pentatonix.
She was still and deemed us the safest place of all and named us “mama and daddy.”
And six months later…”let the wild rumpus start!”
Smiling. Laughing. Eating real food. Sitting up. Babbling. Rolling. Crawling. Pulling on cords. Shuffling along furniture. Swimming in the dogs’ water bowl. Waving. Mimicking. Big girl throw up. Turning one.
“Now stop!” mama and daddy wished of time. And we were happy for only a moment, but we really wanted to keep going to a place where our little girl kept growing.
Then all around, from far away across time, we saw our future of zoo trips, camping, swinging, and swimming. So we gave up wishing time to stop.
But our conscience cried “Oh please don’t start time again. We want her small and cuddly, we love her so.” And mama and daddy said “No!”
And our little one started her big girl hums and wearing bows in her long, blonde hair.
And my thoughts quietly sailed back over a year, and in and out of weeks, and through a day, and into the night of my little girl’s birthday. Where she was sitting in my lap, with her eyes closed, sleeping soundly.
And I was as content as I could be.