My Freshest Child
Those of us who have children will always love and look upon every one in the same equal manner. Ask any parent and you will always get the same answer: no favorites. There is, however, something special about the youngest child.
Every morning, I go through this whole routine of waking up my kids, with extra effort on cajoling my little daughter, to go to school. No early starter, the small one. It always takes some argument, a little tears, time for her to decompress and a lot of creativity on my part to get her to let go of blankie and huggy pillow, these two accomplices for the making of warm and wonderfully sticky sleep.
Leading her to bathe is always done in slow and semi-drag manner, with her, muttering and heavily stomping feet, going into the waiting shower ( the water temp of which i carefully set ). Then I will wait, give it enough minutes, and pull her out to dry, by which time I would almost always catch her soaping the walls with her meshy, sea-green scrub. She would smile slyly then and blurt out a really loud 'Mom!', having been caught doing what I repeatedly tell her not to do. She steps out of the shower, now wide awake and transformed by the seemingly magical fruity soap rinsed with the 'not too hot, not too cold, but just right' water.
Drying up is a concerted effort. She runs a comb then makes a part through the right side of her fine little hair, this while I dry her up and massage her hands, feet and soft lithe limbs with lotion, leaving her supple and honest of smell, like young, newly picked apples. By the time we got her into school uniform this morning, she was just finishing telling me a story about teacher and this game of 'We Love Charlie' ( whoever is first to grab hold of the dog Charlie and give him a hug wins ) with her bestfriend. Soon, with a noisy kiss, a curt hug and 'I love you Mom', she was off to say goodbye and in to the waiting car, along with her sisters, leaving me quite pleased, a little sad, and smelling like the freshest apple that she is.
Mommies will always love and look upon every child in the same manner. There is, however, something special about the youngest child. It's probably because you know they need you most and depends largely on you to survive. For them, a kiss and a hug is not the after-thought that it becomes to the bigger kids who are slowly growing into the world that they are in a rush to go to, a world in which you are, little by little, becoming a lesser part of.
Over the years I have observed that life is a series of progressions one will go through. I know it from my two older kids, and of my own. We all come and pull through in different ways. But nothing comes close to the sweetness and wonder of growing up with your own freshest child.
Filed Under: Love
Every morning, I go through this whole routine of waking up my kids, with extra effort on cajoling my little daughter, to go to school. No early starter, the small one. It always takes some argument, a little tears, time for her to decompress and a lot of creativity on my part to get her to let go of blankie and huggy pillow, these two accomplices for the making of warm and wonderfully sticky sleep.
Leading her to bathe is always done in slow and semi-drag manner, with her, muttering and heavily stomping feet, going into the waiting shower ( the water temp of which i carefully set ). Then I will wait, give it enough minutes, and pull her out to dry, by which time I would almost always catch her soaping the walls with her meshy, sea-green scrub. She would smile slyly then and blurt out a really loud 'Mom!', having been caught doing what I repeatedly tell her not to do. She steps out of the shower, now wide awake and transformed by the seemingly magical fruity soap rinsed with the 'not too hot, not too cold, but just right' water.
Drying up is a concerted effort. She runs a comb then makes a part through the right side of her fine little hair, this while I dry her up and massage her hands, feet and soft lithe limbs with lotion, leaving her supple and honest of smell, like young, newly picked apples. By the time we got her into school uniform this morning, she was just finishing telling me a story about teacher and this game of 'We Love Charlie' ( whoever is first to grab hold of the dog Charlie and give him a hug wins ) with her bestfriend. Soon, with a noisy kiss, a curt hug and 'I love you Mom', she was off to say goodbye and in to the waiting car, along with her sisters, leaving me quite pleased, a little sad, and smelling like the freshest apple that she is.
Mommies will always love and look upon every child in the same manner. There is, however, something special about the youngest child. It's probably because you know they need you most and depends largely on you to survive. For them, a kiss and a hug is not the after-thought that it becomes to the bigger kids who are slowly growing into the world that they are in a rush to go to, a world in which you are, little by little, becoming a lesser part of.
Over the years I have observed that life is a series of progressions one will go through. I know it from my two older kids, and of my own. We all come and pull through in different ways. But nothing comes close to the sweetness and wonder of growing up with your own freshest child.
Filed Under: Love
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