Thirty-two years ago my second child was born, the little girl who made me dizzy with love. Took my breath away, she did.
Today she’s a lovely young woman with two kids of her own.
But she’ll always be my baby.
She was my surprise child, as in not making her presence known until four months into the pregnancy. As in sitting cross-legged during the ultrasound so we couldn’t see if she was a girl or a boy.
As in sleeping through the night at 6 weeks (!) and putting herself down for naps. Who knew babies could be cooperative?
As in looking at me with a stubborn set of her jaw at about 2, tiny fists clinched, and saying, “Call me Lizzy!!,” despite me having called her Liz since she was born. I still don’t know where that came from, but the family obeyed.
Lizzy she became, until she grew tired of that and went back to Liz.
Liz was my clown child. She made it her job to empty my sock drawer every morning when she learned to crawl. It was much cuter than it was annoying.
From the early days, she made anything that would fit onto her head into a hat – or went for days wearing a wig or a pink bandana do-rag. Oh, the photos I could show you from those years. This Wiggy Miss Lizzy (Little Orphan Liz?) is one of my faves.
At Ben’s second birthday party, when all eyes were on him, baby Liz, 8½ months old, decided to stand up unassisted for the first time. Aunt Cathy had put a white bow from a package on her head, and in her pink-and-white dress with a stiff pinafore, Liz looked like a ringing bell as she teetered back and forth to get her balance.
Her tiny black-patent Mary Janes shined. Within days, she was running all over the house on those little feet.
Sometimes that seems like just days ago. Hang onto your babies and love them while you can.
They go running into adulthood so soon.