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Happy Burfdy It is naptime, and my daughter and I are lying on her bed. The afternoon sun casts comfortable shadows beneath the blinds. The room is warm and peaceful, and Maya’s small body is curled up in my arms, against me. I smell her hair, and I whisper soft rhymes into her ear. She turns around, looks into my eyes and asks, “milkie?” I smile and nod, and she drinks peacefully from my breast. She falls asleep; her mouth releases me as her small eyes close. It is naptime, and my daughter and I are lying on her bed. Restlessly, Maya tosses and turns. Angrily, she presents me with an old doll, and demands, ‘milkie?’ I explain the doll does not drink milk. She persists, growing more excited with each of my protests. She grabs my shirt and presses the doll against me. I say, ‘No’. My patience is wearing thin. I have other things I want to be doing. I ask myself the same desperate question, ‘why won’t she just go to sleep?’ I am eye to eye with the doll, and Maya is giggling, nowhere near sleep. My mind becomes blurry, my head pounds. I grab the doll and throw it to the ground. Maya is quiet. I have scared her. I do not know that look in her eyes; I’ve never seen it before. Tears form in my own eyes and I hold her, and whisper, ‘mommy is sorry’. I then ‘nurse’ the injured doll. Maya smiles, climbs off the bed and we spend the afternoon together. We will celebrate Maya’s first two years of life in just a few days. As I reflect upon her development I can hardly believe how much she has grown physically, mentally and emotionally. She grows stronger each day. She owns her words and phrases and eagerly creates stories and relays her thoughts and feelings. She trusts me implicitly, believes I will never harm her, and knows I am always close by. She is safe in my presence, I do not chastise her or judge her. I allow her to be, and develop in her own, unique way. As I reflect upon my own development as a mother, I am both wildly impressed and utterly terrified. In her, I see my optimism, my determination and stubbornness. She smiles widely and she laughs easily. She has also learned the word ‘no’. Contentedly, she refuses to acknowledge me. She knows me intimately and my sensitive buttons are the most tempting. It is true, I do see my smile on her face but I also see my anger in her eyes. We clash at times, and we hurt each other. And this, I do believe, is my true introduction into motherhood. Go To Page: 1 2
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