I’m oddly emotional. After roughly 30 minutes, she finally laid back, cradled her pink sheep-head blanket, and fell asleep.
It’s the weirdest thing. You want your child to be independent (I do, anyway), and at the same time, you want your child to do what YOU know she needs to do. You see her strong will and you don’t want to break it because you value your own. And even though your mother once said she’s afraid she raised her daughters to be too independent, and even though you already know that some sparks will seriously fly when yours is 15 and has a clear rationale for why she should be able to go with person X to place Q (and you don’t like either), you see her strength, her decisiveness, her persistence, and you say, “Let’s do this!”
Yet in this moment as her little body lies still, you just want to hug her and say, “I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to have to cry and fuss for so long. I thought it could be easier. Your tears are my tears, my love.”
And then gears switch as the baby app notification on your phone reminds you that she’s 9 months old today and you kind of what to fist pump the air in celebration of your strong and sensitive Ella, the incredible girl who feels new surfaces with her feet, eats solids like a champ, stands (assisted) like it’s supposed to be normal, and crawls to what she wants (not to your commands) as her two front teeth become clearer by the day.
My love, iron sharpens iron. God be with us both.
