As I sat down to write this (well, last, it being Sunday) week's review, I realized I didn't write anything down this week. I could list the reasons for my lack of notes (Audrey's first day of school, the first meeting of my mom's group of which I'm now on the planning committee, yada, yada, yada) but to put it simply - I got distracted. Unfortunately, I have the memory of a guppy. (I blame it on the 3 concussions I racked up by the time I turned eight. I was a little, ahem, rough and tumble - we could just as easily call it clumsy). What I do remember from the past week is Audrey looking into the side of the stainless steel mixing bowl and saying, "Look at the mirror of Audrey. Look at my mouth. Look at my tongue."
So, I'm going to take my cue from that and take a moment to look into that mirror of Audrey and see what I can see, right now, before two-and-a-half too quickly becomes three:
Looks can be deceiving. This tiny package that swims in the sheets of her queen-sized bed, petite even for toddler standards, houses the secrets of the ants. The first time you see her lift something twice her size, it takes you back a moment. Somewhere around the dozenth time she puts you in a choke-hold while "hugging you" or causes you to stumble forward as she pulls you in the direction of a desired object, you begin to think just how much stronger than me is she going to be when she's five?
She has a face that makes strangers smile and a laugh that begs to be reciprocated. As she goes about her day, she hums to music that is not there. And as I watch her dance or sing, regardless of who is watching, I can't help but think that the world might be a more carefree place if everyone just had a copy of her soundtrack.
Already a case in contradictions, we find her fiercely independent one moment while asking to drive the car and still so strongly in need of our presence as she asks (knowing the answer will be no) if we can sleep in her room for just a little while. A little girl wanting comfort when she scraps a knee and then turning the tables by asking, "Are you my pancake?" "Are you my Kristin?" "Are you okay, honey?"
She is never in a hurry or too busy to stop and notice her surroundings. But her steps are deliberate, and when she walks I find myself wondering how someone so young seems so sure of where she is going. And, if it were not for the recent creeping in of the dark - her one lingering fear - I would think that all of this would stay just as it is. But three is coming, and with it a new reflection in that mixing bowl mirror. So I will bask in this image while I can and take comfort in the fact that her expression of spontaneous enthusiasm is the same today as in her 5-month-old photo. Because, sometimes, you have to hold on to what you can - even if only a simple reflection.
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