She used to not like babies at all. She would say it was because they put everything in their mouths—I think her words were literally, “because they bite everything.” There was no ooo-s and ahh-s at teeny bundles of cuteness from her. She was perfectly content to let other people take care of all that, as long as those other people didn’t include me. On the rare occasion I would be holding someone’s baby, Lydia would freeze and stare then say something like, “Mama, when you gonna give dat baby back?” I learned to ask her permission before opening my lap or arms to another baby even when she was long past babyhood herself. Most of the time permission was granted; sometimes, it wasn’t. And, I respected that.
At the ripe old age of 6 (and a half), she’s moved past all that. But, as we opened our home up to host a little one over Christmas this year—at our children’s urging, mind you—we wondered if we might see a little bit of her insecurities rise up again.
There’s a conversation we’ve had nearly daily around here over the last two weeks that has been some variation of the following:
[While I’m holding NJ or admiring his preciousness from afar]
Lydia: Mama, who is cuter, me or NJ?
Mama: Definitely you, Lydia. No question. You are so so cute. Definitely the cutest.
[Mama tickles her. Lydia eats it up then walks away content and ready to conquer the world.]
She’s one smart girl, you know. She may not be able to articulate all that’s going on in her heart, but she manages to ask for exactly what the needs. And, I’m happy to give it to her in abundance. When she isn’t asking but feels a bit needy of some reassurance, I can usually find her right here with her Ren Ren in hand and up close to her face like so.
Lydia: Mama….Mama….Mama….ummm….hi…do you notice anything?
Mama: Why yes I do…
[kissing fest ensues followed by voracious giggles and the filling of two heart tanks.]
Everybody knows a turkey and some mistletoe help to make the season bright. But, our family knows that same mistletoe helps to make our hearts right too. Maybe we’ll just make it a permanent fixture.
