Timothy

Her little fingers curl around my side as I rock her in the glider. It’s raining outside and probably near 2:30 a.m. but Adele is very much awake and not hungry at all.

So I decide to read her The Little Lamb, the story about Timothy. And as I open the book all of the memories of the story come flooding back: how cute Timothy looked as a baby lamb who needed to be fed with a bottle; and how he grew into a large, fluffy lamb when Emmy took good care of him. And when Timothy got spooked at the birthday party wearing his new purple leash, and tried to run away, I was scared for him. And when he got too big to keep at home with Emmy’s family, I held back tears. She had taken such good care of Timothy. Now he was big and strong and needed to be back in the pasture with the other lambs. 20 lambs on Wetherbee Farm. And all those feelings I felt as a little girl, when it was time to let Timothy, go came rushing back. And all of a sudden I was back in my childhood. And I was sad for Emmy but also happy Timothy was healthy enough to be on his own.

There is something to be said about a girl caring for a weak little lamb until he is big and strong and healthy. It remains a mystery to me, today even at age 29, why that story touched me so deeply as a little girl and why it continues to make me cry even now. And reading it to Adele? Am I really a mother now? Am I really, all of a sudden, reading my daughter my favorite story growing up? How did this happen so fast?

I know she will learn to love Timothy as much as I do. And she will learn to love Emmy as much as I do, and most of all admire her for caring for Timothy when he needed her.

And she will look at the pictures of Timothy and want to laugh and cry all at the same time because he is so cute and it’s hard not to just fall in love.

Adele grabs my clothes when I hold her now, and my engagement ring when I feed her. Her little hands curl around my body. She is making sounds that are not crying sounds, and yesterday when Sean picked her up in the morning and told her she looked so nice in her new outfit for the day she smiled so big I burst into laughter.

Maybe it’s sleep deprivation. Maybe it’s my throbbing back. Maybe it’s utter exhaustion. But the story of Timothy made me cry early this morning, with Adele in the crease of my arm, just looking at me. I believe she knew that story still made me emotional. And I will hold nothing back when she gets older and I read her that story and I cry. (Because I’ll never be able to read it without crying.) She can see what the story means to me, Mom.  She can see Timothy still makes Mom, a grown woman, cry. And it’s OK to cry over Timothy, for a little sadness, but mostly happiness.

Because there is something to be said about a girl caring for a weak little lamb until he is big and strong and healthy.

I call this #mommymornings (her bottle, my coffee)