A Shoutout to Fingers. And Perspective.

The mother of a 7-month old wants to sit and write but knows her little bundle of joy is full of energy and will burst with exuberantly delightful noise and gratitude upon seeing her fingers.

How I would love to hear baby chatter again. My little girl is in her 20s now, the chatter is much, much different. I’d be okay if you left your mic open for a while.

She probably doesn’t feel this way, right now, in the moment of nonstop chatter and sudden noises that could break glass (or should, it’s a miracle this doesn’t happen) but has possibly stopped a few hearts. What she wants is peace.

Peace I would gladly share with her. A quietness I did not know could exist, not in the midst of pattering little feet, and questions and laundry. Peace I wish I could share with her during days ahead of playdates, carpools, and games of some sort which will bring on more laundry, more noise.

How I would love to hear this noise again, if only for a moment. MOM! being shouted from a room on the other side of the house, I drop everything to respond. Because I can. Those moments don’t happen anymore.

I have a small voice recorder, a gift to myself on my 40th birthday. This was how I was going to write, by first speaking it into this small, slim device whenever a moment might happen and there would be enough peace and a coherent thought that needed to be preserved. (FYI: This Did Not Happen.)

The device contains 4 recordings.

My daughter, her 10-year-old voice: “I Love You Momma.”

All of them are my daughter. If my memories are correct, these were recorded on the same day.

“I promise to rub mom’s neck and shoulders every Tuesday for 5 minutes, …” I had a problem with headaches and she wanted to help.

“I promise to spend every birthday with my mom.” There’d been a discussion about not spending birthdays with parents. Long story.

The last recording is nothing but a few seconds of her little-girl-laughter.

I haven’t seen my baby girl in days. I make a point of not letting too much time go between our in-person visits. I’ve promised myself I would never live more than a 40-minute drive away, twenty if there’s an emergency.

We text daily and talk every few days. There is much to talk about in her grown-up life. Her day at her job and her plans for the evening where she’ll pursue her passion for online gaming.

She’ll complain how Chadwick, my fur-grand-cat, is bugging her and I’ll chuckle and say, “enjoy it while you can baby.” I watch them both on my screen as she ‘streams’ what she’s playing to the world.

I think of those fingers now, all the things they’ve touched. The controllers, the cat, the dishes and silverware, the steering wheels, gloves, softballs, reins, and saddles. Hair products and makeup.

There was a moment, I have a picture somewhere, of her laying in dappled sunlight. This is the day she’s found her toes and has her foot pulled up to her face. She’s happily chewing her toes with toothless gums and looking out the window. Peaceful. And she was making the funniest sounds.

I look at my own fingers as they click away on a keyboard making it possible for me to write and share these words, this story. I know how lucky I am to have fingers, all ten, in working order. I hope I have them until I no longer need them and not a moment sooner.

To the new momma; Kiss those tiny fingers and for a moment, think of what they’ll be like when they’re grown. I’m excited for all the days ahead of you still. Hold on to them. Enjoy them. Because they go by all too fast and one day soon you will find yourself with a lot of time and quiet on your hands.

For Juliette Roanoke ❤️

Creating the life of my dreams, one story at a time. www.nanciwrites.com

Write Your Story Speak Your Truth Play Your Game. Intentionally, relentlessly, pursue your passion. www.nanciarvizu.com

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