Tonight while getting in the bathtub I noticed Charlotte’s toys sitting on the side in a collage of color. This parade of My Little Ponies and Weeble Wobbles, sat there in an indication of her presence.

My tub, my saving grace, the place where I let my hair down and have my most quiet moments, was sabotaged, vandalized with the little icons of her youth. Her toys invaded my space, reminders that she was the last one to add her feet to the porcelain and sit her tiny bare bottom on the rounded edge of the sides; no doubt barely skimming the surface to crawl into the depths of the garden tub.

I picked up the toys and placed them into a bucket, one by one, and they caused me to pause. There will be a time some day in the future, too near I imagine, that the toys will be gathered up, put away to a final resting place, and the memories of her just there will be distant.

My tub will be mine again, but I doubt at that point, I will want it.

It’s amazing how fast it goes. The pain of labor to the first days of school. First the words, the first steps, the first bites of ‘real’ food…we always celebrate  and long for the firsts.

Yet, every moment is a first, isn’t it?

I find myself quite often tucking Charlotte in her bed at night, embracing her and smelling her hair. Giving her lips a kiss and lingering  just a second longer so I can breathe her youth in. The baby she was is slowly giving away to a young girl and eventually from a young girl to a young woman.

I am not longing for time to stand still. It would be just as much of a blessing as it would be a curse. The moments of the future are just as relevant as the moments of today. The joys that her life have yet to be told, have barely begun, but I do sometimes wish there was a way to bottle the feelings I get when I look at her as she is now.

This evening I used an electric can opener. Its very rare that I open a can and seemingly more rare that I open one in front of her. The dying art of canned food has given way to fresh fruits and frozen vegetables in our home. She was helping her father unload the dishwasher and she looked up. I watched her as she was fascinated, watching the can move round, suspended in midair. She never looked at me, never noticed me looking at her, just watched the can, in a trance.

Once it stopped, she broke her gaze and went back to her chore.

I will never forget the look in her eyes as she was learning, taking it in, experiencing something new. As minor as it was, I saw the glimmer of knowledge while it happened. I was just glad that I looked up at that moment.

I can only hope that as she grows she still needs me. That I live long enough to watch her hold her child, and smell their hair, and kiss their lips.

For now, I gather up the toys and pile them in one corner, reluctant to put them in a cupboard and take way the signs that she was just there.

And as I crawl in, in a strange way, the chaos is quite comforting in the silence.

~trisha