What I Don't Want to Forget

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The other night I was sitting with Lilia on the little love seat in her room, snuggled up and reading her a story. As I read it I was running my fingers through her hair. I felt a sudden rush that was equal parts gratitude and grief as it suddenly occurred to me that this was one of those moments in life that sneaks up on you and changes your soul a little. An everyday moment that is suddenly life changing. Soon she will have big-girl hair rather than the silky, spun gold that she has now and I think I might grieve her baby hair for the rest of my life.

Her hair is perfect. I mean, really perfect. It's flawlessly soft and smooth and there are at least three colors in it, which change in sunlight. Last week our pastor was admiring her and said, "Oh look, her hair has some strawberry blonde in it! Does she get that from you?" Well I died. I think it was the first time anyone has ever asked if she gets anything from me (The majority of her perfection comes from her amazing father), and it was her hair! Her beautiful hair that I am tempted to worship almost as much as I am her toes.

Tonight it occurs to me that there are pictures I can't take because they aren't sights, they're feelings. And I'm driven to write them down.

• Each day and night we start her bedtime and naptime routines by literally saying goodnight to every living thing in our house. That means Mommy, Daddy, fishies, doggie, kitty, and occasionally calling Grandma. Lilia sits contentedly on my (or Daddy's) hip and carefully opens and closes her hand to waive goodnight. And she says "nigh nigh" in a sweet soft voice over and over again.
  
• The worst thing you can do to Lilia is somehow give her the impression you're going to pick her up and then walk away from her instead. Of course we never do this on purpose, but if you forget the bottle or the doorbell rings or you were actually walking to the thing next to her, prepare to feel major pangs of regret. Her little broken heart spreads to her face in the form of the most tragic and beautiful expression you can imagine. Et tu, brute? It melts us every time.
• When she wants to communicate but can't tell you, she purses her little lips, opens her eyes as widely as she can and makes a very insistent, drawn out cross between a grunt and a hum. Sort of the way an adult would purposefully clear her throat to imply something that wasn't said.
• She is becoming far too busy and important to be held in our laps on the couch for any period of time now. When we try to snuggle her she very discreetly finds one of our fingers with each hand and then arches her back and squirms until she's standing on the floor with our help. This leaves her in the perfect position for her favorite activity: walking with Mommy or Daddy! She beams with pride as she tromps all over the house.

There are so many more that I will have to do these posts regularly. Again I'm reminded that we are so, so, so blessed.