I've been listening to too much Christian Christmas Music

Lately I've been feeling on the sentimental side. I am just so grateful for the many many MANY blessings in my life. Like my Little. Seriously, could I have a better kid? The fact that I get to stay home with her instead of work and leave her with someone else to raise her is something I will never take for granted, even on those less-than-perfect days. She makes me laugh so much. And smile. And be amazed. Today, I was in the bathroom getting ready to go to the gym with her by my side. She stepped out for a few minutes, and I figured she would be returning shortly with a toy in hand, but when she didn't return and I noticed it had gotten a little too quiet, I rushed out of the bathroom to see what sort of mischief she had gotten into. Turns out it was of the big kind. When I found her (mind you, she wasn't gone for more than maybe three minutes), she was making her way back DOWN the stairs after having gone up to her room to retrieve some ancient pacifiers that she found in her drawer of tiny baby things. She wasn't sucking on them. She was playing with them. After I got over my bewilderment, I supervised her as she slid downstairs, and thought that maybe it's ok for her to do things like this on her own from time to time. She is cautious enough that her going up and down the stairs isn't actually as dangerous as it is in my mind. Later on, after her first half of lunch, she decided she was tired and asked for "nappy time." Sure. No problem. Seriously? She not only willingly goes, but even asks for a nap? What did I do to deserve this? Thank God! And this is pretty much an every day occurrence. After her nap and second lunch during which she ate some pears while looking at photo albums with me on the couch, she took her plate to the sink (which she cannot quite reach) and somehow managed to push it in standing on her tippy toes and using the tips of her fingers. I gave her a high five for that one. And then maybe because of all the Christmas music, the weather, the time of year, I wonder about what Jesus was like when he was my daughter's age. The thought that God... THE God... GOD who made everything and is bigger than everything and loves everything and IS everything was a CHILD just completely flummoxes me. Now that I'm a mother, those lullabies to baby Jesus really tug at my heart. I can't wrap my brain around the thought that God was an infant, as sweet, helpless, innocent, and small as my own child. That He was held by His mother. That He probably did some of the same things I watch my child do every day. Did His mother know what He would do? What He would live through? That He would die the way He did? And then my thoughts turn to Little. I don't know what she will do or live through or how or when she will die. The thought that she will become an adult is beyond my capability to comprehend. Maybe that's how Mary did it too. She saw her son for who He was right then and there, living in the present, loving in the present, open to whatever it was God sent their way. I imagine Jesus had a pretty normal childhood, overall, except for that whole temple incident. When did He become fully aware of who He is? Who will my Little become?


All these thoughts make me feel so small. So humbled. So grateful to know that there is more out there and that I have been given a sweet sweet slice of it.