One of the hardest parts of parenting a toddler is, for me, that my daughter spends so much time in her own little world. I wonder how much of her surroundings really sift through the whimsy and the fantasy and the whirling of her dreams. I wonder what she’s thinking of, dreaming of, wishing for? I catch her up close, squeeze her tight, smell her head. I have her scent memorized. I kiss her and I tell her that I love her. I wonder how much she understands?
She climbs across my lap in the afternoon and asks for kisses. When I deliver, she says "MAMO" (TE AMO)! I wonder if she knows what that means. I wonder if she knows how much we love her, if she knows that she is our everything?
Then I think of the little ways we tell her we love her. Not the kisses and the hugs and the exclamation points. The small ways. The subtle ways. Giving her a pack of her favorite cookies just because. The stories told twenty times in a row to make her laugh. The games of hide-and-seek that last an hour without her moving an inch.
Something tells me it’s getting through.
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