Yesterday I took Lilian for a mid-day walk. Every now and again, I will just take her out sans any modern carrier, stroller or other such contraption. I just sweep her up in my arms and carry her out. I love doing this. The simplicity of it; the toughness of it; the sweet closeness of it - the fact that there is nothing except a couple of thin layers of cloth between us. I feel like a real mom when I do this and I instantly feel connected to women throughout the ages.
But don't get me wrong. It is hard work. It is easy to be romantic about babyhood. The tiny clothes and sweet, soft skin, even the smell of diapers (Mom.) But it is hard and rarely if ever glamorous work. Well, this little angel swept along the path yesterday. She broke her power walk stride to say this to me just as I was swinging Lilian off of my hip and onto the ground so she could do some practice walking (the polar opposite of power walking), "Well, you don't have a free moment in the day . . . thank you for the work that you are doing." And she kept on; head held high, slight smile across her glistening face.
I allowed the hot breeze to rush over me in that moment and again I felt connected. She was thanking me for raising a child; for doing my best everyday to encourage and teach and be there and let go. She reminded me that this short mid-day walk with nothing but my keys and Lilian mattered and was, in fact, enough.
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