Dinner Date

Last night, Hayden and I sat on the floor of the kitchen, sharing a banana, some leftover birthday cake and cheerios for dinner. Still in my work clothes, I stretched out in the corner, listening to the radio serenade us with Christmas carols, surveyed the crumbs and dirt that yet again taken over my hardwood floor, watched Hayden boogey and clap between bites, and sighed. We shared messy kisses that left my face sticky with icing and banana, her small fingers smearing rainbow traces of cake down my sweater as she bounced into my lap, and also as she pushed up and away from me, tottering a few steps here or there before returning to our spot. Walking. My baby girl had, overnight, begun walking, and it still surprised me to watch her, hands up by her face (ready to brace for the inevitable tumble), legs akimbo, one jaunty step at a time. My baby girl. Walking. One year old. One. Year. Old. I looked again at the floors. Dirt everywhere, it seemed. Didn't we just vacuum? I surveyed the countertops from my corner vantage point. What I saw was covered in mail, dishes, bottles, and other ephemera. I looked back to Hayden, now happily scooting toward me on her hands and knees, her prize - a Santa doll from her grandparents - clutched in one hand. Too soon, this sweet crawl will be replaced by running and skipping, jumping and tumbling. As she approached, I reached out and wrapped her in my arms, sticky fingers and all, and cuddled her. The house can wait. I had a dinner date just then that couldn't.


Thank God for her. Thank God she slows me down for moments like these.