Sweetpea, At Three
Tonight I opened the door to my daughters’ bedroom to check on them while they slept. Sweetpea, who just turned three, was lying half on the floor, half on her bean bag chair, right in front of the door. Her little body slid across the floor as I slowly pushed open the door.
I bent down to gather her and her special blanket into my arms. She woke as I lifted her. “Mama, snuggle me,” she called.
I lay down with her in her bed, my arm tucked under her shoulders. She arranged her blanket the way she likes (”cover me with the bear side!”), popped her thumb in her mouth and wriggled into me. We began to play her favorite bedtime game, where I pull her thumb out of her mouth, and she giggles and pops it back in.
A few weeks ago, she began to say that she loves me. Not grudgingly like before, but loudly, with jubilation. “I LOVE you, TOO, Mommy!” She shouts, in the closest thing to a bellow that a tiny three-year-old can muster.
Every day I seem to notice some new little way that she is like her father. The independence, the fiery, stubborn streak, the I-dare-you look in her eye. She loves books, but only lets me read them once before she proclaims, “Wanna do it myself!” Then she clutches the book and turns the pages, looking wise, refusing to admit that she cannot read.
When she was a newborn, she had colic. I spent almost every night sitting in the glider, rocking her on my knees, waiting for her discomfort to end so she could finally sleep. It took hours, and I worried that I would not be able to bond with this tiny baby the way I had with my firstborn.
Instead, I find myself captivated by her. Her subtle smiles, more in the eyes than the mouth, require me to watch her face more closely to read her expression. Learning to recognize her feelings is like learning a secret language, or gaining admittance to an exclusive club I never knew was there. Now I feel the goofy smile on my face when I watch her run, her happiness showing in the way her long brown hair bounces as she trots.
She is not my baby anymore. She has grown into my little girl, beloved and treasured.
Sue
What a wonderful love letter to your daughter. I try to write posts like this about my children but I can’t quite seem to capture them. This was beautiful.
Tonggu Momma
Absolutely beautiful! And your youngest seems to have a bit in common with the Tongginator.
The Razzler
This is so beautiful. Brought tears to my eyes.
Jamie @ ohbecareful
It never ceases to amaze me, seeing our kids bloom into the unique person God designed them to be. Of course, they always were that person, even as tiny infants whose means of communication were limited, but it’s astonishing to behold different aspects of their personality emerge before your eyes as they gain confidence, independence, and a vocabulary.
Lovely post. Your little Sweetpea is the picture of contentment there on your shoulder. Hope you’re all beginning to feel better.
Kelly @ Love Well
You’ve written a beautiful portrait of Sweetpea at three.
Isn’t being a mother worth the work?
chaotic joy
I wrote a post similar to this today. About my Ben turning four. About watching him morph from this grumpy old man of a baby to the boy that he is. It’s wonderful how they are all different. How knowing one doesn’t give you leg up on learning the rest of them. Parenthood, it’s kaleidescope of a thing, isn’t it? Thank you for sharing this glimpse of your sweetpea, it was lovely.
I hope you are all on the read to healing.
Terri
I have a very similar picture of my oldest asleep on my shoulder when she was but a few days old which doesn’t seem so long ago. She’ll be ten in July.
Alison
What a sweet memory you’ve captured of your girl at three.
Shalee
Such a sweet post that makes me want to have another baby or better yet, to take my taller than me daughter and to hold her just a little while like I used to before she got so grown-up.
JulieC
This was so nice! She will love to read this herself someday.