When she was little and would nurse and fall asleep in my arms, she made all these lovely, squeaky, mewing sounds. She was so tiny and fragile and because we initially had to feed her with a syringe, she sort of reminded me of a baby kitten or a mouse. She was our first, she was the one I was afraid I would break. With Sam I was more relaxed, and he was such an easy baby. And by the time the third comes… hey, whatever! But with my mouse everything was new and overwhelming.
I look at her now and it is hard to see the rosy-cheeked, chubby little baby in the gangly girl before me. My little mouse has become a young colt, all long legs and shiny hair, her smile big and bright and at times enough to nearly stop my heart. Where did my baby go?
She is smart and funny and as moody as her mama, which is scary. She amazes me with her humor and compassion. The other night as she’s sitting beside me on the couch giving me a foot rub (yes, really) she says, “Can people really do this for a living?”
“Yes, you can be a massage therapist.”
“Cool.” Then she giggles. “But what about being a dance teacher? Or a veterinarian?” Her smile grows and her eyes get big and silly. “I know. I’ll be a massage therapist for dancing animals!”
Mouse, I love your humor. I love what a great big sister you are. I admire how confident you can be, and how sensitive to the feeling of others. You are truly such an amazing person and we are so blessed to have in our world. My mouse…