What I think about when I think about my Precious One on her 2nd birthday

Today on September 6th we celebrated my Precious One's 2nd birthday.

I confess, it has been a tough stretch these past 15 months. A tough stretch. A year ago, I had to confront the reality that I could not celebrate my baby's 1 year birthday in the tradition and custom that I would have hoped, and this year has been not much better. Without the finances to pay for something special, we instead had a quiet party in our home where the little one got to chow down on a massive dosage of frosting on her cupcake. To her at least, it was a celebration well played.

As I agonized internally over the feeling of failure that I could not do more, I was reminded of one important thing. The celebration for my Precious One was not in her birthday, but in herself. The fact that I even have a 2 year old to call my Precious, to dote on her, to tussle her hair, to touch her face, and to poke her belly and make her laugh. Maybe the celebration in the grand scheme of things was meager, but the celebration of her life is most certainly not.

When I think about my Precious One, I think about:

• The way she plays with her big sister, idolizes her big sister, copies her big sister, and never backs down from her big sister.
• The way she'll favor me right up until it's time for her to go to bed, and then it's a dead sprint to get to her momma. 
• The way she will so casually visit violence to claim what she believes is rightfully hers.
• The way big sister, she, and I pray together at night, arms wrapped around each other like teammates in a huddle.
• The way she already knows the answer to 7+2 and 5+4 and 8+1 and 6+3 but not quite 2+2. 
• The way that she refused to sleep through the night for the first 18 months of her life, and then suddenly, peaceful sleep.
• The way she climbs up on chairs next to the window to peer out in the glow of the early morning sunlight.
• The way her current version of a hug is basically putting her head on you and make you do all the work.
• The way she doesn't like to watch me leave, but will quickly put on her shoes (backwards) in order to escape the confines of home and run after me. Only to be distracted by a flower or something as I leave, which means that my departure is important to her but not quite as important as the hedgehog running across the yard.

More to come.