A Four Year Old Apology

Baby girl.

I find myself caught somewhere between the badlands of apology and the sunrise of recognition.

I am too quick to anger. Too swift to judge. Too ready to yell.

Since the moment you kicked and screamed your way into this world I have asked you to be quiet.

You have ignored me.

I have pleaded with you to slow down, to calm down, to be careful.

You have ignored me.

I have begged you to listen. I have threatened you with consequence.

You have ignored me.

I have watched you bulldoze your way through life and allowed myself to forget that you are still small and still impossibly fragile.

You have reminded me.

I have spent far too many hours looking for complex solutions to simple needs.

Give me time. Give me love. Give me your undivided attention.

Not today.

Today I spent hours taking notice. Starting to understand what makes you tick.

Today I noticed the little girl who cycled a kilometre to the park, played for two hours and cycled a kilometre home almost as fast as her big brother.

A little girl who last week was on training wheels.

Today I noticed the little girl who scoured the park for dandelions and then poured her bottle of drinking water over them to make sure they weren’t thirsty.

Today I noticed the little girl who was fearless enough to explore on her own and end up lying flat out on a roundabout in a manner that most children do to garner attention when you thought no one was watching.

I will still anger. I will still judge. I will still yell.

But please.

Whatever you do.

Keep ignoring me.

And keep being the extraordinary individual that you are.

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