Perfect Moments in Parenting
This blog was originally posted on Momaha.com on August 29, 2015
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Bath water hit me in the face, but I didn’t care.
My daughter, Ella, was contentedly sitting in the tub, splashing water and playing with various bath toys. She'd take her rubber fish that fills with water and shove it into the soap bar holder on the wall next to the tub. Next, she'd dunk the plastic cup reserved for rinsing off soap into the water and take a sip. Then she'd squeeze her rubber ducky to hear it squeak and respond with delighted squeals of her own.
I remained alongside the tub, enjoying the moment. It was perfect.
Later, about an hour before bedtime, my daughter was getting restless playing in the living room. I opened the baby gate and let her climb down the stairs and out the front door onto our stoop. I sat on our front porch and watched as she crawled away from me to discover the unknown terrain awaiting her.
She maneuvered across the yard, observing the blooming flowers to her left and the tall tree above her. Various animals went about their normal business – the squirrel scurried up the tree, the bird hunted for worms in the grass and the bunny sat frozen in place for fear of being seen and disturbed. Once Ella arrived at her desired destination, she sat and turned to look at me. I waved and said hello. She waved back ... and waved and waved and waved. We played a quick game of "How big is Ella? This big!" as she raised her arms high to the sky.
It was another perfect moment.
Satisfied with the new discoveries she made on her excursion, she began her return trip to me on our stoop and back into the house to get ready for bed.
In her room, book after book is picked off the shelf, perused for a brief moment and then added to the pile collecting around Ella. Soon she finds a book that seems acceptable, sits down among the discards and flips through its pages. She studies each picture with great intensity. I wonder, "What is she thinking?" and "What is she taking in?"
Eventually, I take her into my arms and we sit on the glider with a few choice books and go about our bedtime ritual. I read the books; she flips the pages and listens, enraptured. I am unsure how aware she is of the story, but she seems to follow. We get to the final book, “Goodnight Moon,” and she cuddles a little closer. She knows it's almost time to sleep. We close the book and she turns around in my lap to lay her face on my chest. I begin to sing “you are my sunshine” as we rock together.
Again, a perfect moment. My daughter, Ella, was contentedly sitting in the tub, splashing water and playing with various bath toys. She'd take her rubber fish that fills with water and shove it into the soap bar holder on the wall next to the tub. Next, she'd dunk the plastic cup reserved for rinsing off soap into the water and take a sip. Then she'd squeeze her rubber ducky to hear it squeak and respond with delighted squeals of her own.
I remained alongside the tub, enjoying the moment. It was perfect.
Later, about an hour before bedtime, my daughter was getting restless playing in the living room. I opened the baby gate and let her climb down the stairs and out the front door onto our stoop. I sat on our front porch and watched as she crawled away from me to discover the unknown terrain awaiting her.
She maneuvered across the yard, observing the blooming flowers to her left and the tall tree above her. Various animals went about their normal business – the squirrel scurried up the tree, the bird hunted for worms in the grass and the bunny sat frozen in place for fear of being seen and disturbed. Once Ella arrived at her desired destination, she sat and turned to look at me. I waved and said hello. She waved back ... and waved and waved and waved. We played a quick game of "How big is Ella? This big!" as she raised her arms high to the sky.
It was another perfect moment.
Satisfied with the new discoveries she made on her excursion, she began her return trip to me on our stoop and back into the house to get ready for bed.
In her room, book after book is picked off the shelf, perused for a brief moment and then added to the pile collecting around Ella. Soon she finds a book that seems acceptable, sits down among the discards and flips through its pages. She studies each picture with great intensity. I wonder, "What is she thinking?" and "What is she taking in?"
Eventually, I take her into my arms and we sit on the glider with a few choice books and go about our bedtime ritual. I read the books; she flips the pages and listens, enraptured. I am unsure how aware she is of the story, but she seems to follow. We get to the final book, “Goodnight Moon,” and she cuddles a little closer. She knows it's almost time to sleep. We close the book and she turns around in my lap to lay her face on my chest. I begin to sing “you are my sunshine” as we rock together.
Perfect moments with our children can feel hard to come by. Sometimes life goes by too fast and we forget to create them. But they are everywhere – you just have to be willing to slow and find them.
These moments may not seem meaningful, but they are the memories we create. Too soon will we look back and wonder were the time went. Too soon they'll be too big to fit on our laps as we sing them their lullabies.
Be present today so you can draw on these memories when the time has passed.
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