One time, Laura and I were discussing Instagram - my very, very favorite iPhone app. If every other app for iPhone was terrible, I would still have an iPhone. For Instagram alone. I love it so. Anyway, I was telling Laura that sometimes my IG feed is a little ... same ol' same ol' ... because it seems like many of the people I follow on there just post pics of their kids all day.
Directly after that, I started posting pictures of my kid. All day.
Long before Facebook when parents were forced to use face-to-face conversation to brag on their kids (I MEAN, can you even?), my grandmother used to smile knowingly and say, "every mama crow think her babies are the blackest."
I have pretty much stepped right into that truth and rolled around in it.
Both of my girls are so, so precious to me. But there's something about knowing that in a few short (too, too short) months, Aliza Joy is headed to pre-K has made me miserably nostalgic. I snap photos of her and take videos of her and tell stories about her and laugh about her all day.
I find myself constantly surprised by how like me she is, and I can't get enough of it. She lasted five minutes in our recent paltry showing of snow and she was ready to come inside. As it turns out, my snow grinch genes did land in one of my own.
She can be inexplicably shy around others, but she has so many words when it's the two of us. Something about riding in the car unleashes a torrent of conversation that is so voluminous, I struggle to keep up:
"Mama, dogs don't have whiskers. Is there such thing as a dog fish? Oh by the way, I saw a dog in our backyard yesterday and I think he was a golden retriever. Mmm hmmm. I think he was. And he was sniffing. And is it time to pick up Dacey yet? And do we have church tonight? And oh by the way ..."
And everything is yesterday or tomorrow or last night. And she know has mastered the usage of Seriously?
She's my shadow and my errand runner and my around-the-house helper and as much as she loves her mama, she is SUCH the Daddy's Girl, too. When Kyle was on a retreat for four days last week, she cried big, heavy, sad little tears every single day that he was away.
I know every parent does this. I know everyone looks at their children and they think, "This one. She is something. She is really something special." And certainly I feel that way about both of my girls. There something about Aliza Joy, though, that scares me. Almost like she is too much for this world. I can really freak myself out if I travel too far down that path, so I just try to savor it all.
The up at 6:15 AM sharp every morning.
The perplexing resistance to peanut butter.
The three-times-a-day outfit changes.
The fussing over her hair until it looks just right. (She's FOUR, you know.)
The hilarious turns of phrase and pronunciations of words. Well, it's complicated, she likes to say.
The way she insists on singing and prayers every single night, and how after I pray over her, she lays perfectly still with eyes closed, smile on her face, afraid to move as if some kind of magical spell will be broken if she does.
Oh that AJ. That Joyful Joy.
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