I don't know where to start about my firstborn. Maybe you feel the same way about yours. It is harder for me to see her, plainly. Because she was the first. The individual who happened to change nearly everything about my life. And that means I messed up the most with her. I am continuing to mess up the most with her. Because every change, every new grade level, development, and step she takes (which is, um, like every day) is a first for both of us. She and I are constantly sailing into uncharted territory. That makes our days a little harder and scarier for both of us. And sometimes there are serious meltdowns. Other times we have a beautiful connection and closeness, just like in my dreams.
And she is so amazing. Compassionate well beyond her years. Shy, but loves to sing and dance. A rule follower and not a peer follower. She will be one with only a couple friends, but they will be of the best kind. She is opinionated, devoted and sensitive.
And she is 8. Which means she is equal parts Tinkerbell and Taylor Swift. She can't quite decide whether she wants to stay in Neverland or sing songs about a lost love on her guitar. She is moody and melancholy, creative and clever. So much like me and then so, so different.
She is definitely more fun.
But our sameness strikes a chord within me when she keeps the sad song on repeat. When she crumbles into tears from feeling overwhelmed.
When she wants her daddy to notice how beautiful she is.
They have a precious bond. He sees her, and tells her often how lovely she is.
The feminine heart, as God designed, is a lovely and complex thing. It reveals so much about the designer: that He is tender, nurturing, gentle and emotional. It can fill up or empty out as quickly as the rolling tide. My daughter's innocent, child's heart is still unfettered by hurt and loss. It reaches eagerly for love with open and trusting arms.
She models for me a purity in seeking her father's love.
And when I can sweep aside my life beyond Neverland, when I can find the child's heart within me under the stacks of years, I go to Him with open arms, needing to be filled up. Needing to be told once again that I am lovely.
He's right there. He's been there, waiting to embrace me.
He lights up at the very invitation to watch me twirl.