Today I took the time to gently lift her into my arms and sway around the kitchen. Laying aside all of the I have to's and instead looking her in the eyes and noticing the lonely.
Wondering if my eyes look the same
I stopped cleaning up dinner and unloading the dishwasher and pulling out the vitamin regiment for the 'morrow. I started listening to the quiet of her heart. The place that was calling out for more of me in the regular moments.
Scrolling through the music on the phone, I found her song. The one I've sang to her since her NICU days. Choosing it carefully, pushing play, watching the wonder in her eyes. She did not realize it was on our devices.
Wonder replacing lonely
My little is still small enough to fit on my hip, even at seven. I tell her it's God's gift to me, being able to tote her when she gets tired or hurt or just plain lonely. Growing up isn't easy. Neither is being grown up. Knowing this, I hold her tighter and we glide around the island, cluttered with dishes to be put away. Not in this moment, though, for this moment? It's ours, hers and mine, with little arms wrapped around my neck and calves resting on my hips.
I remember that she needs me in her moments, not the shell I feel I am this week. I remember how much I need Him in mine, and as we move I ask my God to give me wonder to replace the lonely. I assure Him I know that we're doing this together. I thank Him for these moments.
Today, I give thanks for the moments.