It’s amazing to me how little I remembered of being little until my daughter came along. I had snippets here and there, moments frozen in time. Some I think are remembered from pictures. Now I can remember what being little felt like. I can remember the struggles, the joy. I remember hours spent on our backyard swing. It faced over a farmer’s field and I would swing as high as my little legs could pump me and imagine I was flying over that field. I loved it when the farmer was in his field with his tractor. It felt like a show put on just for me.
I remember what it felt like when my 3 friends decided they didn’t want to be friends anymore. I remember feeling totally rejected in 3rd grade. And I remember my big sister getting the ball back for me on the playground when a bigger kid took it.
As I watch my daughter grow and go through all the things in a little girl’s world, I remember what it feels like. And suddenly, compassion comes more easily. If she has a horrible day, I want to know why. I want her to share those pains with me and to know the unconditional love that she has from me. Remembering being little makes me a better mother.
I hope I never forget that.