Imp
There is a twinkle in her eyes, a bubble in her laugh, and a bit of baby still tucked into those cheeks. As I kiss her good night she’ll say, “I love you too Mama,” before I can even say “I love you” first. And Heaven help me if I vary the good night prayers. You see, we’ve always prayed with and for each of our children, and always we ask that they may know God and follow Him from a very young age all of their lives. I never realized how closely she paid attention, until I rushed through good night prayers one night only to have her tearfully shout, “You forgot to pray for my life! Mama, my life!” . Now there was a load of parental guilt heaped on my head—note to self, don’t rush prayers! She might cover you with kisses one minute and then bop you on the face with her baby doll—her favorite is the hard plastic one—oy! She loves to play memory with me right now; and no matter how many matches either one of us have made, if she makes the last she’ll squeal delightedly, “I win, I win!” I thought this might be something I have to discuss with her (you know, being overly competitive) until I got the last match one day and she shouted just as excitedly, “You win Mama, you win!” (Note to self, never explain how exactly one “wins” this game). She’s sweet and cuddly and tough as nails (she once dislocated her shoulder and never cried before or after it was “relocated”--makes me shudder to think of it). She spends more time on my hip than the others ever got a chance too—there was no one to chase her out of my arms. She has each one of us wrapped up in her smiles; and she is most definitely the baby of this family—I swore I wouldn’t let it happen, but there it is. And the other part of this truth is that I don’t think any of us would have it any other way. Children make liars of us all.
There is a twinkle in her eyes, a bubble in her laugh, and a bit of baby still tucked into those cheeks. As I kiss her good night she’ll say, “I love you too Mama,” before I can even say “I love you” first. And Heaven help me if I vary the good night prayers. You see, we’ve always prayed with and for each of our children, and always we ask that they may know God and follow Him from a very young age all of their lives. I never realized how closely she paid attention, until I rushed through good night prayers one night only to have her tearfully shout, “You forgot to pray for my life! Mama, my life!” . Now there was a load of parental guilt heaped on my head—note to self, don’t rush prayers! She might cover you with kisses one minute and then bop you on the face with her baby doll—her favorite is the hard plastic one—oy! She loves to play memory with me right now; and no matter how many matches either one of us have made, if she makes the last she’ll squeal delightedly, “I win, I win!” I thought this might be something I have to discuss with her (you know, being overly competitive) until I got the last match one day and she shouted just as excitedly, “You win Mama, you win!” (Note to self, never explain how exactly one “wins” this game). She’s sweet and cuddly and tough as nails (she once dislocated her shoulder and never cried before or after it was “relocated”--makes me shudder to think of it). She spends more time on my hip than the others ever got a chance too—there was no one to chase her out of my arms. She has each one of us wrapped up in her smiles; and she is most definitely the baby of this family—I swore I wouldn’t let it happen, but there it is. And the other part of this truth is that I don’t think any of us would have it any other way. Children make liars of us all.