She Was Given to Me to Bring Me Joy

Sometimes I sit
and stare into her eyes,
I'm looking for something
that's hidden, impossible to find.

"You used to be so tiny.
You used to be my babe.
You still have years to go,
but look how you've already changed..."

She laughs an unaltered six year old laugh
and tells me I'm just so silly.
"I'm still your baby. Your big girl baby.
I just act much older than I am really."

What changed first?
Was it her hair? Her chubby cheeks?
Her round belly? Her padded feet?
It's been years, but it feels like weeks...

Since she was my baby.

She loves her shoes,
Her clothes, and fancy things.
She wants to wear makeup and jewelry,
updo's and skinny jeans.

I urge her to slow down.
"Enjoy being a child."
She agrees she will, but she longingly wishes,
that she could age faster, all the while.

I wish I could have bottled
all of her funny words and smiles.
But I still can look into her unchanged eyes,
and hear her perfect laughter...

my precious gift of a child.

Baby Baby Baby, Ohhhh...

In my world prior to children, or at least school-aged children, I could merrily ignore the heartthrobs, or celebrity buzz. Even Bear could care less. Taking him to Kindergarten, I saw five year old girls with Hannah Montana backpacks, and I hoped hoped hoped that Bear would not be fazed by celebrity.

He's not.

And then came Lambie. Lambie is the same age as Suri Cruise (although I'm not convinced Tom is the father, but I won't discuss that since I don't want to look back and feel like I need to empty trash from my blog.). At any rate, she's the same age as Suri. And she saw this photo.


Save me.

Lambie's first sentence was (I kid you not) "Oh, look at all of my beautiful shoes!" with hands clasped tightly. Lambie wanted those golden heels. She was, what, four? She wanted to be Suri. She STILL talks about this photo.

Lambie is in awe over celebrity, completely opposite of Bear. Completely. How do I stop it? How do I teach her she's good enough, not being a celebrity?

The other day I was listening to some hip hop, for what I like to call "Dance Party" at my home, which is just dancing, and fortunately is a killer work out too. Lambie asked if I could put on a *gasp* Justin Bieber (sp?) video. *gag* As I obliged my obedient, kind, loving, patient daughter, I watched as she gazed at the video, transparent in her thoughts, that she would do anything (like, donate her most loved princess dress) to be his "girlfriend" in the video. The bubbly hearts rising from her were blinding. Amazing. Justin Bieber.



Save me.

As a youth, I was one of the few girls my age who were not entranced with the New Kids on the Block. They just didn't do it for me. I didn't get gaga over heartthrobs, and I still don't. I say who I think is attractive, but it ends there. No posters on my wall. No Bopper magazine. I am having a really hard time relating to Lambie's interest in Bieber. I do not understand wanting to be celebrity. I do not understand crushes on heartthrobs.

And then Peach starts kicking her legs. Peach has always loved music. Ever since birth. It made me laugh, and tease her father, The Captain, that our seven month old babe had a crush on a Bieber. The next song to come up on Pandora was by Timbaland.

And Peach REALLY started rocking out. I thought to myself "At least she has good taste!"

As I started genuinely listening, I realized there was a major content issue. Lambie thought I was turning it off because of the word "stupid", and applauded my integrity. I suppose Bieber isn't so bad. I suppose Suri Cruise isn't so bad. If it means the worst word Lambie can pick out from the Timbaland song was "stupid", she is in a good world, right now.

I'm really going to have to figure out how to teach Lambie that the nonsensical celebrity really doesn't matter... But for now, bring on the Bieber. I guess. It's a much gentler world than mine.