The Top of Your Head

It is past my bedtime. I am staring at a pile of dishes in the sink, at the leftovers from dinner on the stove, at the toys strewn across the living room rug, and ignoring them all completely as I stare at the top of your head. You are sleeping, or you were sleeping. And as I heard stirring over the monitor, I glanced at the camera to see you sit up in your bed, adjust your animals and your blanket, and settle back in, snuggling your blanket against your cheek, curling to your side the way I do. 

You will be soundly asleep again soon, and I am left with the image of those curls, the curls that are the perfect blend of your daddy's and mine, perfectly formed on the top of your head. 

I spend most of my day seeing you from this angle. It is the first thing I see when I wake each morning to the sound of running, and look down from my side of the bed to see you as you say, "good morning, Mommy." I pat your curls before helping you climb into our bed, as Daddy hits the snooze button one last time for morning snuggles before the day begins. 

I watch the top of your head intently as you walk downstairs, slowly, one step at a time, one hand on the rail, the other tightly grasping your blanket. I trail right behind you, but don't touch. "I do it myself" was heard loud and clear, but I'm always right behind you.

I pat your head while I make breakfast. You perform an intricate dance of weaving in between my legs as you say, "Mommy, I help you." I help you into your seat at the table and stand beside you, pouring milk over cereal, or syrup onto pancakes, or juice into your cup. 

I sip water and watch you eat. I can never eat this early, but breakfast has become my favorite part of the day. We talk about our plans for the day. I look at the mess of curls on top of your head and think of how much you are starting to look like me.

I sit beside you as we play. We stack blocks, we play with your princess castle, we feed your babies endless bottles of milk of juice. We play with your train table until it collapses. All the while, I see the those curls on the top of your head.

We get ready for whatever adventures the day may hold. Per your request, I brush your hair into a ponytail or pigtails or simply a bow. I spray leave-in conditioner until your hair is wet, manageable, and once again, am reminded of my childhood, sitting still while my parents attempted to detangle the mop of curls on my head. You sit still in my lap, usually waiting patiently for me to finish. When I am done, I pat the top of your head, the signal that jumping and dancing and running are allowed again.

We continue with our day, whether errands or the park or the zoo, and I continue to see the top of your head. I can pick out your head as you scale to the top of the slide or slip into a group of other kids. I know your head. I know your curls. I know you.

I snuggle you in my lap for a movie before bed and my chin rests perfectly on top of your head. We sit that way for a while, quiet, content, and I forget that you won't fit there forever.

It occurs to me that you are growing and I am suddenly very aware of your height, of the distance between the top of your head and the bottom of my chin. As my belly grows and you sit beside me for bedtime stories instead of in my lap, my chin still finds the top of your head. As you insist on reading "all by yourself," I still pull you in closer to me, rest my chin on those curls and listen intently as you recite books from memory.

You are growing. Our family is growing. I know you will do more by yourself and need me less and less. But, I hope that somehow, no matter how big you get, that you will still find comfort as you snuggle into my chest until I can rest my chin on the top of your head - a simple reminder that I'm right behind you and everything will be okay.

Doing it Again

She's doing it again. She's growing so fast, I can hardly keep up. At nearly 20 months, she is a bubbly, chatty, busy, funny, adventurous, sweet, smart girl. I can't get over how much she is growing and changing before my eyes. I'm watching her, hearing her learn more each day and I'm seeing tiny glimpses of the person she is becoming, the person she will be.

At her 18 month check up, she weighed in at 25 lbs, 3oz. (75th %) and was 33 1/4" inches long (90th %). A month and a half later, all I know is that she is taller than most children her age or older, and that pants that fit her three weeks ago were too short today. For someone who doesn't eat much, she is growing like a weed.

She's been growing her vocabulary too. She says, and repeats, a lot of words; but she understands so much more. Our reading routine has changed to a "where is/what is that?" game of pointing. She loves books with activities (sliding or lifting flaps, textures, mirrors) and loves any book about an animal, preferably on a farm. Out of the piles of books in her room, she picks out her favorites to read and reread each day. Her current favorites are The Cow Loves Cookies; Curious George; Brown Bear, Brown Bear; The Very Hungry Caterpillar; The Going to Bed Book; and Goodnight, Moon. When she's really tired, she goes straight for Goodnight, Moon. When she's too tired for a book, I rock her while reciting I Love You, Forever (its words ingrained from my own childhood).

She's becoming more focused, sure of herself. She takes my hand in hers and leads me to what she wants or needs. The other night, she grabbed her blanket and milk, took my hand in hers, and led me upstairs for her bath because it was bedtime and I was not moving fast enough.

And, oh my goodness, her blanket. She is more attached to her fuzzy blanket than ever. Her favorite corner is tattered and coming apart at the seems. She takes that corner and rubs it between her thumb and index finger when she's tired, sliding the fuzzy side against the satin. She sucks on the corner in her sleep. I watch her reach for it in the middle of the night, snuggle back into the calm, and settle back to sleep. It is a tent, a game of peek-a-boo, and a cape. She cries and beats on the washing machine when I wash it. I just ordered a back up.

She would rather be outside than anywhere else. We park hop around the city, visiting a park a few times a week. 

When we are inside, she loves stacking blocks, playing dress up, playing musical instruments, and playing with the insane amount of balls we have in our living room. Oh, and dancing. She loves dancing! Our favorite game lately is for me to play fast and slow rhythms on the drum while she runs, hops, and spins to the beat. 

Bath time and bed time are up in the air lately. Some nights, she loves it, some nights, it's a battle. But, story and snuggle time is always, always my favorite. 

Before I know it, we'll have a two year old on our hands. I have a feeling I'll utter these words roughly 765,546,238,891 more times in her life, but I can't believe how fast she's growing up! I'm so thankful for giggles, tiny high fives, and snuggles from my favorite dance partner. Life is good with a toddler.