She fills my days. Her impish smile. Her infectious laugh. The way she leaps and twirls about my kitchen. The tutus, over-sized butterfly wings, dollies, and tiny plastic animals scattered about the living room. Everywhere I look, reminders of her. My little shadow. Oh the wonderful pictures she draws! Her brothers would always say “I don’t know how to draw that!”. It would never cross her mind to say such a thing. If she can imagine it she can draw it.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s not all games and giggles with her. She has a fire in her belly that sometimes baffles her laid-back momma. She is so unlike me. We’re good for each other. Her wild, fearless, and independent ways make me smile, and see the world as a place of exciting and endless possibilities. My relaxed and even temperament help to ground her and smooth off some of the rough edges. On our good days we are like two happy, snug puzzle pieces, different but right for each other. On our hard days we bump and scrape against each other. I frustrate her. She wears me out.
But at the end of the day when I tuck her in bed and she wraps her little arms around my neck, and I kiss her on the nose, all the dustiness of the day washes away. She presses her forehead against mine and grins.
Tomorrow we will dance our perfectly imperfect dance again, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.