My heart hurts

Today was a very blustery day- it reminded me of watching Winnie the Pooh with Isabelle when she was little. We must have watched that movie a thousand times...the leaves blowing...Pooh complaining...Piglet anxious about everything...and Tigger happily oblivious.

After her soccer game today- where the wind just about carried the ball off- I came home and sat down at the computer to try and warm up. I read a few sites that I like to keep up on and I came across a picture of a woman holding her sleeping baby in a snuggli. My thoughts may have gone back to Isabelle again...when she was that little.

I might have welled up at this stranger holding her baby. Unless you think that would be dumb, then I definitely did NOT do that. I felt like I could feel that baby's soft skin. I thought about that mom, who is probably really tired and just wants 10 minutes by herself with no demands. I thought about how I would trade places with her in a heartbeat. It got me to thinking about that 13 year old who I watched play soccer today, and how I can barely remember what she was like at 13 months old.

You know what's coming.

I had to get a blanket and curl up with my photo box. I closed my eyes tightly and put myself back in that apartment we had when she was 10 months old. I could smell the baby powder, I could see the toys in the corner and hear her little voice.

Then my heart turned all gummy and fell out of my chest.

Then I slid off the couch and curled up in a ball because I came across this:


How does this happen? How do those years when each day seems to last 112 hours go by so quickly? When all I did was wash the same dishes over and over again, fold little socks, and accidentally step on the same loud toy every night, disappear like a desert mirage?

How the heck did I end up here:

When she is 30, will I cry when I look at the pictures of her at 13?

Knowing me, probably.

Even seeing her image from 4 years ago, when she just played soccer at school, makes my chest constrict.

Look at those cute braids...her first pair of glasses...those cheeks...(excuse me while I dry my eyes).

...I can't stop...give me a minute...

I just want to reach out and hold her hand.

I am more used to this:

I amused to saying "Go tell your sister it's time for dinner" and she doesn't move, but instead, yells at the top of her lungs "Maaaarrrriiiiaaaa!"

Umm..that's not exactly what I meant...smarty pants. Turn off NCIS and WALK to the stairs and then use your voice. Thank you very much.

Somewhere deep down inside, there are a few dusty memories of a baby with a smile that could melt away those years. Blue eyes that were as deep as the ocean and then some.

Watching her today, I can't even explain how her legs got to be so long. I think about how much she already knows about life and how much more there is for her to learn. She has grand plans for herself, and I couldn't be more proud. She talks about the Peace Corps, and Stanford, and travel, and cooking, and that smile still gets me.

The little girl who had her lovies, "Nordy" and "Baby" (we weren't entirely creative in naming her toys) attached to her hip for years, loved Winne the Pooh, wore the most adorable little snappy onesies, and was always ready for a snuggle...

...now would rather die than hug me in public (which makes it all the more fun to do), reads Jane Austin, has pen-pals in other countries, shares shoes with me, and is looking forward to her first school graduation this year.

I am dying. DYING. I am going to close my eyes now...and concentrate really hard...and when I open my eyes it better be 1998 again.

My throat hurts. My stomach hurts.

If I go into a Babies R Us, do you think they would actually have a baby for me?