Mothers at the park point and wave. Look at the cute baby, they say to their brood, I remember when you were that small. Old men shopping at Wong tickle her chin. Mine are all grown, they chuckle, and it happened too fast. Isn’t it the best time you’ve ever had?, they ask before taking off again. Neighbors stop us when we run into them on our way to the grocery. She is just so adorable, they tell me, you’re a lucky woman.
It warms a mother’s heart, it does.
Parenthood has made me slow down in so many ways. When Micaela was days old, I commented to Pablo that babies were made for slower times. And they are. Feeding them is time-consuming, diaper changes are frequent, and naps are unpredictable. Games are played hundreds of times over, and then again because the kid smiled. Small children thrive on a slow, dull routine.
But the way it has slowed me down the most is this: I always stop. I admire, I enjoy, and I listen to tales of children grown and growing.
I would love to say that it’s because I am a kind-hearted and patient person, but that isn’t true. No. It’s because four or five times a week, someone pops out the one compliment that I cannot resist. They tell me that it is clear to them that my daughter is loved.
Oh, I say every time, relishing the moment, smiling at my little princess, holding her close. Oh, she is.
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