Hard work. That is how I would describe her.
Invariably, if I can’t find Harlow, this is where she is.
Oh yeah, I totally stand on tables now.
Or somewhere equally unsafe.
Removing her is met with one of two reactions; screaming
indignation or blatant wilfulness as she climbs right back to where she started.
I love this child of mine but she is constant work for if
she is not adventuring, she is demanding to be held.
Would that I could give in to the endless requests for
snuggles. Lord knows the weight of her in my arms still feels like heaven. She
gives herself over so completely to a cuddle, she sinks into me, her little body
grown heavier with the trust she places in my arms. When she burrows
her sweet face into my neck, I am gone.
Tonight she did not want to go to bed. I held her in my arms
but she struggled to get free so I put her in her cot. She lay on her back and
prepared to wail inconsolably. There she was, in the dying light of a long day
spent exploring outside, resisting the sleep she so desperately needed. I
stroked her little face, murmured softly that she was okay. I traced a line
across her worried little brow and her eyelashes flickered shut. I traced a
line across her sweet, round cheeks and when I reached the soft skin beneath
her chin, she smiled, gave a tiny giggle.
Over and over, I traced these same lines and she lay
contentedly, staring into my eyes, fighting the weight of sleep upon her
eyelids. I wished I could capture the moment somehow. Knowing that I could not
reach for my phone without losing it, I wrote these words in my head.
I want to remember forever my daughter’s precious face in
her shadowy bedroom, little body stretched out in a blue and white striped
sleepsuit that belonged to her brother before her, maybe both brothers, and how
I still thought she looked just like a girl, how hers is the prettiest face I
have ever seen.
She is seventeen months old now. She is hard, hard work – in
her quest to be grown; to do and to see; to discover; to adventure.
Her demands exhaust me.
But if I could press pause on this moment, I would. I know it
is slipping away.
Beautiful, Angie! I know the feelings soooo well. Harlow and Mr O sound as though they are cut from the very same cloth. Much love xox
I feel precisely the same way about my Banjo. Currently he is a constant challenge and yet I know I will always want to have this time back again. He is challenge and joy all in one. I do love the confidence your little Harlow sports in her little precious eyes. She is going to keep you guessing… for a good 18 years or so!
Yeah, I think they’d be tight. Move to Melbourne! xx
Ahhhh, yep! I got a live one. I will be on my toes for life, I think….
It’s so hard not to wish the time away when they’re being little shits, isn’t it?
aahhhh love, I can feel it flowering from your words. There is nothing like the feeling of a close up snuggle of a little one. xx
Beautiful. I am making the most of my littlest Love being a snuggly baby for a while longer, while he’s still not able to run away from me 😉 I’ve no doubt at some point I’ll be lamenting his mobility and willfulness! xx
Gorgeous words. As someone who is guilty of wishing the time away with a ferociously determined little girl, I get it. xx
Such a lovely post. Almost brought tears to my eyes.You love your daughter so much and your post just reminds again of an unconditional love of a mother.By the waywas that an actual phone on her hand on the picture or a one of your kids toys? Whatever it is I love the picture.