Things I’ve Learned; and Things I Can Hardly Stand

I’ve learned that I really, truly love being Sami’s mom. If you don’t know my entire past history (and really, there’s only a handful of people that do), then you may not appreciate the profoundness of this self-discovery. Basically, it freaks me out.

I’ve learned that the word “love” seems wildly inadequate for describing how I feel about this child of mine—this developing personality and soul of hers. I mean, I have pretty fierce passions and love for other people in my life – I am not and was not a stranger to strong feelings of love and caring. But I can’t even yet fully comprehend the impact she has had on my heart. Who knew?

I look at her, I watch her, I gaze at her. It is like if I could do nothing for the rest of my life but just spend time watching her go about her little business, I’d be perfectly happy. All the better if I get to do it along with someone else that adores her too (her daddy; Aunt Bec) so we can cast sidelong and amazed and amused glances at each other during the watching.

Oh God. This singing of hers. I used to call her chatter singing, but now that she’s actually making attempts at singing, it is all in perspective. This is the most priceless thing I’ve ever been witness to.

I’ve been singing Rock-a-Bye Baby to her, and then at the end of every verse, I supplement her name and others, so it goes, “…and down will come Sami, Jazzy and all.” Okay? So the first verse always has to be Jazzy (our dog, whose name Jasmine became Jazzy as soon as Sami had a hand at it). Then the second verse must be Katie. (The cat.) Then the third and fourth verses are usually Daddy and Mommy.

It must be the simplicity of the song, and the insertion of our families’ names in there that have captivated her so. She asks me to sing it all the time. She calls it Bay Boe. The Bay Boe song. “Bay Boe? Peace? Peace? Peace?” Until I sing it. I write that politely, but in reality, her request is more like, “Bay Boe? Piss? Piss? Piss?” I adore her.

And once it gets into her head from me singing a few verses. She’ll go off and start playing somewhere within earshot, and she’ll sing it as well. Oh my. She has a hearty volume, and isn’t shy about the fact that most of the words fail her. So long as she inserts “bay boe” and an occasional family name, she’s willing to sing her little heart out. So full of the right rhythms and tonality, but made up of sweet nonsense syllables and tuneless rising and falling scales of notes. I am not kidding when I say I sometimes truly feel as though those moments of listening in to her singing like that just make my heart feel as though it will burst.

It is so bittersweet to me. At the time I am enjoying it so fully, but it nearly brings me to tears, because I know this phase is so short-lived. I know soon she’ll learn real words, and there won’t be that sweet, sweet making up of syllables and sounds. I worry that soon she’ll become so self-aware that she’ll get self-conscious and shy about singing out loud (trust me when I tell you I will do everything in my power to ensure this doesn’t happen, but I fear it nonetheless).

I’m not really that polite of a person, generally speaking. But I must be more polite than I was aware of, because outside of “Daddy,” the first word she learned, and that has endured, was “please.” Okay? Then shortly after that came “thank you.” And not only that, but as she matures, she uses it very appropriately. At all the right times. Do you know what it feels like to hand her something she’s asked for, and then to have her say, “Thank you?” Or tinkoo, as it were. I always tell her, “Well, it’s my pleasure, my dear.” I always preached that my selfish nature would require a very grateful child. And sure enough, here she is.

Decked out in her Easter finery, making the little face she makes when she's really impressed with something, but trying to act nonchalant--that little right-side dimple gives her away every time. 

Blue-eyed Baby :-) 

Sami searching for Easter eggs at a friend's