Shonnie to Gracelyn recently: “I love seeing who you’re growing into.”
Gracelyn’s response: “Mama, you know who I am. I’m Gracelyn.”
This past week, Gracelyn and I spent about an hour sitting at my computer watching videos that Bruce and I had taken of her since her birth. I’d probably seen them all at some point, but either that point was very long ago or had gotten lost amidst other memories and thus some of the moments seemed brand new. Videos showed her pulling towels and dish cloths from a kitchen drawer, playing peep-eye with me, early crawling and stair climbing, being in her plastic swimming pool for the first time, splashing in rain puddles, and pronouncing our cat Desmond’s name for the first time that I’d understood. There was even a short video of me holding our then un-named daughter the first morning after her birth when we were still at the hospital (that one I didn’t remember).
It was heart-warming to see how she responded to each video, sometimes asking questions about the moment, sometimes remembering an experience, sometimes simply laughing or obviously entranced by these snippets of her life thus far. For me, it was a delightful and quick trip down memory lane, giving me glimpses into the lives of the people on the screen: Who was she back then? Who was I? Even though a few of the videos seemed entirely new to me, most gave me a deep sense of familiarity — I knew these people. I’d had the time and the space to get to know this child as she moved through her life phases — newborn, infant, baby, toddler, preschooler. I’d had the opportunity to bear witness to my own evolution from freshly-claimed motherhood status, to just-emerging-from-the-first-year-whilrwind mama, to mom who knows that this parenting gig is her own growth path as much as it is her daughter’s.
Bruce had originally encouraged me to stay home to be with Gracelyn for her first year of life. I hadn’t been opposed to this, though having been cared for by sweet, little ol’ ladies because my two parents worked outside the home, I didn’t think it was a huge deal to be the primary caregiver for one’s child. Within a few weeks of being home with Gracelyn, however, I’d become a convert and my desire to be with her the vast majority of the time hasn’t waned much in the intervening 4+ years.
Those cliché sayings are true, of course. Time does pass in a flash. The days are long and the years are short. By having the freedom to focus my time and attention on my daughter, I’ve gotten to see her growing. I’ve been present as she had first experiences but also as she had second, third, fourth, and more trys at her discoveries. Having the time and energy allows us the space to get to know one another. I wasn’t merely a watcher of those videos of Gracelyn’s past, I was present then, either at her side, behind the camera lens, or nearby observing. Some call my — or our experience — a luxury, and it is in the sense that not everyone can easily have this experience of being together with their child most of the time. For me, however, it has also become a necessity to my spirit — the chance to soak each other in, to come to know one another intimately, confidently, gently as we both evolve into who we are becoming moment-by-moment, one lived experience at a time.
So as Gracelyn now passes age 4.25 and I approach my 43rd birthday, I give a knot-throated, teary-eyed thanks. First for the very precious opportunity to be a mama at all. Second for the gentle insistence of my husband to be at home with our daughter for that first year. Third for the continuing blessings that allow me to devote most of my time to nurturing my girl during these early years. Finally for the innumerable, mostly unrecorded yet nonetheless indelible, gifts that have come from, and been comprised of these many moments.