This week I’m going to move away from my preoccupation with our downsizing experience and write something for Mother’s Day. But I don’t want to write about my mother. I want to talk about my daughter.
She and I had so many tickle and giggling times together, and then there were what seemed the endless hours of parenting, I thought she would be a little girl forever. Though quietly and obsessively the hour hand moved and now my daughter is a mother.
We watched her belly grow so large we feared she would burst.
And then her son was born, a squalling, purple, little wrinkled thing. If there is a word that goes beyond the feeling of love and pride, that would sum-up how I felt when I saw my daughter holding her son for the first time.
Since the day she delivered herself into motherhood I have watched my daughter comfort a sometimes sick, sometimes weary, cranky child.
I’ve seen her try to do work with a wiggling child sitting on her lap.
She’s giggled and played, bringing a smile to this little dependent creature she’s brought into this world.
Is there anything more fun than a piggyback ride on momma!!
And no one applauds more loudly than my daughter when her son shows off by standing on his head.
I find more pleasure than I can ever put into words how I feel when I’m able to get a photograph of my beautiful daughter having fun with her child.