a fleeting moment that moved me so

there are those moments, in my life as a mother, when i'm caught square in the face by all of the other moments that have come before, and by the one standing right there in front of me.

like this afternoon, when we came in from school, my little one crying about the rocket ship she drew and cut out and had to leave on the table when it was counting time but when she came back from counting it was gone, thrown away, and she wanted to jump into the garbage can to get it back. sobbing. and sobbing. (it was a while before i realized that this must have happened before 9:15 in the morning, so fresh were her feelings.)

and there i was, holding her tight. rocking her back and forth. stroking her hair. smooshing my face against her cheek, smelling her little girl smell that, right there in that moment, smelled just like her little baby girl smell. you know that smell? that baby smell? it's the smell of their skin. or it's the smell of the baby soap and the laundry detergent all rolled into one. or maybe it's just their little lusciousness. or something. that scent is so strong when they're babies. it's just there. until it fades, you know? and one day it's gone, but for a whiff now and again. so there i was, for a split-second, not really listening anymore to the rocket ship story, because i was too busy breathing. inhaling all of the four-and-three-quarters-years of my sweet girl right there in that instant.

and then right back to the rocket ship.

incidentally, when i put her to bed tonight, the sobbing long since through, she said, "mommy, if you would talk about the rocket ship it would make me not feel so sad." and i asked her what she meant - did she want me to talk to her teacher about the rocket ship? no, she just wanted me to lay with her, cozy in her bed, and talk about the little piece of paper that she had colored and cut out and that looked really like a rocket ship, really. so i did. we talked. about brown and red, and scissors. and we decided that we might try to make another rocket ship tomorrow. we might. but you never know what we'll be busy with by then.

Comments

[cloth.paper.string]

ah... i'm breathing in your words. especially those at the end -- not knowing what we'll be busy with tomorrow. the embrace and the letting go of that which is fleeting. perfect.

[Alicia A.]

I wish I knew you all in "real" life. You're good people.

(and a particularly good writer too, you know.)

[Amy]

Beautiful words, Emily. Loved this. How come you can't "fave" blog posts like in flickr. I feel the need here.

And yes - that smell - it is kinda wet sheepy - in the best way possible, isn't it? I love it.

[Amber]

I found your blog through Cloth-Paper-String...
I must say, this post is so wonderfully put. I am always amazed, and awed by the little things that mean so much to my own children---I guess it puts life in perspective.

[beki]

Such a sweet reminder to take a moment to take it all in. Beautiful post.

[Stefani]

Oh honey, I know just exactly what you mean about that smell. What a gift that moment was... just for a little while to have that smell back. And to be asked to crawl in and just talk. Perfect.

Beautiful, beautiful post, Emily.

[ani]

you are so good at conveying these emotions!

[erin]

oh this is so sweet! thanks for sharing your story, emily.

[Grace]

sob. sob. sob. i am so touched. by the whole thing. you know.

[zohar]

oh man i'm crying...
mothers and daughters huh? :)

by the way, i think 'your little one' still has that smell often.
also, ever noticed how grama has a particularly cozy smell too? (well not a baby smell but there's something sweet about it)

[bigbucketgirl]

Simply precious moments.xxx