Little Miracles

(Something happened to Blogger and this post was lost. Posting again - sorry for the repeat)

Spring is wrapping up and 90-degree weather has returned to Austin. The daily smell of sunscreen and baby sweat take me back to when Stella began to walk, around her first birthday last summer. I cry at the drop of a hat these days over the little things that are so precious to me right now: the way she sings Rock-a-bye Baby, the way she refers to herself in the third person, the marathon nursing sessions that ensue several times a day and all night. I almost go into shock when I realize it will end. I breathe literal sighs of relief that I made the choice to be close to her all day and all night.

There are some moments in my past that I look upon and tremble when I think about how close I came to "blowing it". How close I came to taking a turn that would have taken me drastically far from this place. Most of the time I am overly aware of how insignificant my little daily things and decisions can seem in the "big picture". How some of the things over which we lament can be so quickly forgotten or unimportant in the grand scheme of things. But then I remember how each of these little things has led me to this very X upon which I stand. Here. My life that I made. My home. I could never envision such an existence before (who could), not that my life is so interesting. But motherhood is my joyride. I have quieted the all-too surrounding drama and busyness that used to be my everyday, and now peace has become my sanctity, my church.

Losing my mother made time stop. Having a baby made time stop. Even though she keeps growing and the seasons and people change around me, I feel that I have finally stopped long enough to love this place. To love my family. To love myself. I am entertained to drink hot tea with my family at night on a warm evening on the screened-in porch, to garden every morning - child by my side. I am all too aware of how time and circumstances can swallow these moments up and then they're gone forever. I'm guarding the quiet with my life. I'm blocking drama with a shield. It's waiting and threatening to swallow up the memories I want to make. But I'm fighting. Quietly.

Having little guidance as a young person can often take you in one of two directions. But providing your own child with the stability, patience and love that was lacking in your own life can both erase and encapsulate the pain of a lost childhood. Strange how that is. Strange how raising and protecting her (in the way that was a mystery to me as a child) can bring up constant turmoil in my body and mind. It brings me so much joy to parent her (in this way) and so much pain, too. A few days ago, I found my brain suddenly fixated on a memory of my childhood that I didn't even know I had - I have so very few memories of it. Clear as day, I could see the bedroom set and bedding in my bedroom from when I was probably around 7...? A house we couldn't afford. A house we didn't live in long. A house we lost when my brother and I had a nearly fatal car accident and had no insurance. We lost a lot that we never really had in the first place. But even more so, my parents' marriage ended after that. The scars on my face from the accident are reminders of it all.

But I digress.

The white canopy bed so innocently sitting, waiting for a girl equally innocent - not a girl growing up too fast. Two matching night stands and a dresser. A small make-up table. A dry-erase board for playing "school" and "teacher". I have no memory of playing or being played with in that room. But the sheets - I remember those beautiful linens, a proud purchase of my mother's, I'm sure. I just did this myself - indulged in buying pretty bedding for my daughter in case it's my last chance to ever do it again (for a baby girl or otherwise). And so as I had this memory, I began channeling my young mother shopping wherever she must have gone to get these sheets during this funny time in the 80's (a major recession, an oil boom, a failing marriage, the Texas plains). Did she obsess the way I recently did over if they would match the curtains? Or if they were "baby" enough? Girl enough?

I never thought I would spend such time on something like this when there are so many other things...but suddenly it was important. And suddenly I knew why. Yes, it's a reach back into my childhood that I'm possibly trying to achieve for myself. Or perhaps I'm trying to recreate something for my daughter that I remember as being positive. Maybe those things. But mostly, because I am her. Because I am my mother in so many ways. When did this happen? When wasn't it happening is probably the more relevant question. Time and again I've mulled over my daughter's room decor since her birth (instead of just buying what I like) because of money. So I thought.

And so one purchase at a time, slowly but surely, my daughter has a sweet girly space that we play in...together. One that makes me feel complete in a strange way. One that made me realize, yet again, that my mother did things that I would never understand or remember until I was a mother. Does she sleep in there? No. Will she ever? Who even knows. But maybe she'll remember more than just the sheets.