Four years ago today, Sabrina came into the world. For the previous nine months, I had controlled what went into her, what she heard, what she felt. I've heard children have a hard time differentiating themselves from their parents until they're about 2, but it was the other way with me. I could not tell a difference between us. When she had a milk sensitivity, I was confused. We love milk!
Now, I know we're different people. (For one thing, I was never that snotty at 4, I'm sure.) But that doesn't mean I truly feel separate from her. Someone tells her they won't play with her? My heart breaks in two. She cries because Daddy is making her eat her noodles? I want to hold her and tell her she only has to eat one half of a noodle. She is afraid of the water? Just let me hold you. Don't be scared. I know I can't give into these impulses, but I feel her pain like mine.
Of course, there's the other side, too. She goes down the water slide? My heart bursts with pride. Her squealing delight at successfully completing Fruit Ninja on the Xbox Kinect makes me laugh out loud. "Mom, I DID it!" when she sounds out mmmmm and sssss is so unbelievably joyful.
I don't want to be the mom that makes her children think it's their job to make her happy. It's not. It's my job to be happy. But dang, girl. You make it easy.
Happy birthday baby girl. I'm so glad you're my daughter.