Glimpses of hope...

This fourth one is a clingy one. And that's putting it mildly. Since I'm all for keeping it real, I'll even admit that I almost lost it at small group bible study last night just talking about it. And I don't lose it all that often, in case you didn't already know that. Duh.

You'd think I'd have some mature way of handling this, since numbers one and three were the same way, and we all survived somehow. And then there was Trey. Sweet, simple Trey. Who I forget half of his babyhood because he was just so darn content.

There's no need to bore you with the details. I'm not setting records here or announcing anything new that lots of moms haven't already experienced. But it is a real part of our daily lives. Complimentary at best, and exhausting at it's worst.

So when I spot her playing on her own like this, do I run around as fast as I can accomplishing everything I think about when she is hanging on my leg, crying to be held? Of course not. That would be the smart thing to do.

First, I run for my camera. Seriously, something this rare needs to be documented. I peek in - making sure that she can't spot me (or it's all over) - and marvel at how God gave her to us. I think about how cute she is, and how I love it that she loves books, and I record in my head all of the babbles that come out of her mouth that actually resemble words - just maybe.

I look at the bow in her hair and think about how fun it is to dress a girl and figure out girl hair. I even notice that her mullet isn't quite as noticeable as it was a couple of weeks ago. I smile because I think about my mom saying in the softest, sweetest voice, "Oh dear, her hair looks just like yours did when you were a baby."

I think about her brothers, and how proud they are to have her for a sister. Trey's prayers come to mind; the ones where he thanks God for all of his family members by name, but when he gets to Tess, skips her name and says instead, "my sweet baby sister". And my eyes get watery just thinking about it.

Water.

Toilet water.

Ugh. She loves toilet water.

Do I have time to clean the toilet before she realizes I'm not in the same room?

And then, just as my thirty-second daydream is coming to an end and I'm in toilet-cleaning mode, she looks up. She spots me and smiles, getting ready to crawl my way.

I look away, as if that will magically make me invisible. You know, just until I get my toilet cleaned.

Then I spot the Batman guy eloquently hanging upside down from my blind string.

And just like that, it's back to reality.