Little Big Girl
This month, Mira learned to say “baby.” She says it repeatedly throughout the day, sometimes in song form and mainly referring to herself. Ellie, being the all-knowing big sister, corrects her every time.
“Mira, you are NOT a baby, you are a little big girl.”
Little big girl.
It took a 5 year old mind to perfect the term that defines exactly who Mira is right now.
The change has been happening for a while now, even if I didn’t quite realize it. Her movements slowly shifting, the difference in her strength, her face. I didn’t see it happening, although I saw every single second of it. Asleep in my arms, it was clear. In my baby’s place was a little girl. Endless curls of hair, a mouthful of teeth and a fuller, longer body replacing the tiny one I’ve grown used to.
So, I held her tonight for longer than usual. I held her like the little girl that she is now, head heavy on my shoulder, her weight, substantial. I let her sleep on me for a long time, knowing that as long as I sat there holding her, examining her porcelain skin and long lashes, she would stay safe, she would stay mine.
If I could only freeze this time, just by holding her, just by sitting still in this one spot, I would. I know that when I put her down, she will wake up another day older. She will continue to grow until she is grown.
Little big girl.
Enjoy it while they’re little, they grow so fast. That phrase seems both so totally true and yet completely ironic to me, given God and chance made Mira unable to grow, in the same way that everyone else does. As a parent of a baby with dwarfism, you have a rare opportunity to hang onto baby-hood just a little longer. Clothes fit a little longer, baby products last a little longer and overall development takes just a little bit longer.
Despite all of this, after almost two years Mira is still growing and relying less and less on all the stuff that got us through the first two years. So we box it up, we donate it and we say goodbye to this stage that brought us so much chaos, and so much joy.
Tonight, I hold her in my arms a little longer because I can feel my baby slipping away. One day, in the not too far future, there will be an even older girl in her place, and then a teenager and then a young woman. So I keep holding her, heavy in my arms, in her room with the soft pink walls that her Daddy painted, where in this moment, time stands still.
My little big girl.
