Tonight, I find myself having some pretty vivid flashbacks. Matthew is downstairs building her big girl bicycle; shiny, pink, and complete with streamers on the handlebars, a basket and of course, a bell. It will surely be the hit of the day tomorrow. After returning from the store for a last minute procurement of balloons, I find myself compelled to write.
Roughly four years ago yesterday, I went for a pedicure. As a first time soon-to-be-mom, I felt it important to look my best for childbirth, as if anyone in the delivery room would care! But it turns out, they did care! The nurses loved that we didn’t know the gender of the baby, and those who were betting girl observed that I had chosen pink polish. They didn’t know that the color of the polish was called Madame President, part of a color line from the show Scandal, if I recall. It was a lovely, dark shade of pink. Admittedly, I had chosen it because I genuinely believed I would be bringing my child into a world with the first female president of America. To be clear, this is not intended to be any kind of political post, though I understand I run the risk that it will be taken as such by some. I didn’t particularly love or agree with everything Hilary Rodham Clinton said or did, but I did believe she would be victorious. And as a fellow woman, I was proud of her for accomplishing that.
After twenty-two hours of labor, Clara was born late at night on Saturday, November 5th. A girl. My girl. My beautiful, bright-eyed daughter. Any thought of my toenail polish or the potential secret meaning behind it fell by the wayside. I. Was. A. Mom. After staying a few days in the hospital, it was time to bring her home. Like the entire nation, our Tuesday was filled with anxiety and nerves. We introduced Clara to her future best friend and beloved dog. As the country watched their TV screen, we watched the pink balloons on our mailbox blow in the wind. As the nation counted electoral votes, we counted piggy toes. Our friends texted about CNN projections and we replied with pictures of a squishy, yet perfect, nose. The road to 270 seemed a blur, and as the news finally broke, our tiny, new family really didn’t really process it. We were deprived of sleep, buried in diapers, and so enamored by the newest little love in our lives.
Tonight, Chuck Todd joins my living room as I stare at the outlines of states, blue sections and red, numbers and projections, interviews with people from across the nation who just happen to be stationed near the poll workers. But, like four years ago, tonight is about something more. It’s also the last night that my Clara will ever be three. A lot has changed in the last four years, I don’t think anyone reading this can deny that. Some changes have been for the good while others have been for the not-so-good. Four years ago, I had no idea that I’d be where I am today. Never in a million years would I have guessed that, despite all of the challenges we have faced, I would be as blessed as I am today. My baby, the little human who made me a mom, is growing up. She has fought her way to four through evaluations, therapy, ballet and hopscotch. She has proven herself to be growing up almost a little too fast, now the best big sister who teaches Eloise empathy and soccer without even knowing it. She is beautifully and blindly kind, something that the world will always need, though I’d argue it’s especially needed tonight.
My Clara. Four. Blissfully unaware of the issues that afflict the adults in her world. A vague understanding of the concept of CoronaVirus is as far as her “real world” worries go. She’s more concerned about repeat episodes of Paw Patrol, when her hair will finally be long like Rapunzel, and if Eloise got more strawberries than she did. She has never known a world that can be harsh, unkind, judgemental, or ignorant. She will, someday; unfortunately, there is no doubt about that. But that day is not today, and it definitely will not be tomorrow. Tomorrow, she will wake up to pink and purple balloons, a shiny new bike, and a birthday banner made by mom. I’ll go into work late to fulfill a promise of birthday pancakes, and I will finally be able to bring her to school! She’ll wear the fanciest of shirts, personalized with her name, a big glittery 4 and, no surprise here, Rapunzel. We’ll celebrate with treats and presents at night, and we won’t watch the election results, at least not until after she goes to bed. There is a time and place for political statements, and this is just not that kind of place. This is a place to be thankful for what you have in your life, despite the issues and challenges that plague our nation. Don’t get me wrong, I am deeply concerned about and quite invested in these results, but simultaneously, I know my little girl is worth celebrating. She is the future of our world and I vow to celebrate her for the rest of my life. I vow to keep her happy until she is old enough to learn more. And then I vow to have difficult conversations with her so that she is able to form her own decisions and opinions. And more than anything, I vow that I will teach her to value kindness over everything else. Cheers to four years, baby girl!
