Love in the time of Clementine

It seems like months and months have passed since Miss Clementine had her birthday, and yet it was only two. 

14 months ago yesterday, my baby was born. She was pink with red spots on her face, and absolutely beautiful. She really was, I’m not just saying that. I remember wanting nothing more than to see her immediately after she slipped out--and when I did, she completely took my breath away. 

My Girl. 

And now---well, 14 months later she’s a firecracker. Yet she still takes my breath away...at least a million times everyday.

She’s the funniest little thing I ever did meet. I’m sure I said the same thing about the other two, but for now, she’s the funniest little thing I ever did meet, and I mean it. Her walking is much more stable at this point in her life, no longer walking like the “drunk Frankenstein” as my friend Amy likes to call it. Instead, she practically runs around the house with an animal cookie in both hands, giving kisses and hugs in between her rounds, and sometimes tripping due to inexperience. 

I marvel at her. 

She’s learned to pull out the bows I put in her hair, and she is fully aware of what she is doing. She looks at me like, "Ha ha! Look what I can do!" I sigh, and wonder if this is the kind of girl I am destined for, one that hates bows and pink, and wants nothing to do with the future shopping trips to Glitter Box and pedicure dates I have planned in my head. Will she be rowdy with her brothers and want to wrestle with Ethan? Or will she plead with me to play coed football and engage in farting contests with her brothers because it’s sooooo funny? 

Truth is, I don’t know. I couldn’t possibly know, nor could anyone else. Yes, it’s possible she’ll turn out that way, and if she does, then so be it. I will love her all the same and just have to get used to the idea of it (I’ve wanted a girl forever, so excuse me for wanting a girly-girl, ok?). However, just because her brothers are “all boy” doesn’t mean she’ll want to be. She could just as easily be a cupcake and salivate over my makeup box when she’s 5 years old, begging for tea parties and pretty pony rides on her 7th birthday. She could be that girl, too, and I wouldn’t love her anymore than the other version. Actually, she already loves my makeup box, but I think it has more to do with all the fascinating shapes and colors rather than what the objects are intended for.

A happy medium would be nice. But really, I’ll just take her--in any form she chooses. 

There are many days that I just sit and look at her and can’t believe she’s actually here. On top of everything else, she is mine. I steal kisses every moment I get, I still get to nurse her, and she gives me the biggest hugs right before bedtime as though I’m leaving on a month-long trip to Africa every single night. Bobby calls these days the “salad years” and I know exactly what he means, but I can’t help but think that the salad’s come and gone and now I’m totally working on the chocolate dessert course.

With a big scoop of ice cream on top...of course.