Me: Is that what you had with Grandma and Papa when you went to the panto?
Lyla: Yes, and Grandma had vanilla ice cream in a dish and Papa had chocolate.
Such a small, natural, wonderful thing, but a moment I didn't know about, I wasn't there. She is having more and more of these moments, she'll break into a song I've never heard before (What comes next, Mama? Search me!), a random child will wave to her in the store (I play with her at Stay and Play). The strands that bind us are being snipped, the hoops of steel loosened.
She'll have more and more of these joyful moments of play and discovery and friendship. Real friendship, not play dates set up by her mum so she can chat to a grown up for an hour or two. And I want to think that all of these moments away from me are joyful but of course they're not. I'm sure there are (and will be) moments of sadness and struggle. A scolding from a teacher, no one to offer a friendly hand with a coat, a best friend suddenly not a friend, the wrong kind of dress or words or accent. My heart breaks thinking of those moments. I want to be there with her every step of the way, holding her hand, avoiding the bumps. If I'm constantly by her side then nothing bad can ever happen to her. Right? But what would she lose by missing out on those less than happy moments? For every best friend turning away from her at lunch, there's shrugging it off and giggling with another friend in the playground. For every struggle with a coat there's a moment of learning, an "aha" moment that's truly self-taught. The good and the bad are part of life, part of learning and growing up. I'm trying to raise a grown up, not a three year old.
But here's what I can control...home. Home as a sanctuary for all three of us from the days highs and lows. A place of calm and enveloping love and acceptance.
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