This past weekend was jam packed in large part because I went out of town, by myself, for Saturday and Saturday night! Other mothers with young, diaper-wearing, stuck to your hip, precious bambinos can just imagine how I was looking forward to a solo car ride to be able to sing loudly, stop as often as I wanted for ice cold diet coke, and make the absolute most of being in the Raleigh/Chapel Hill by eating at great restaurants, seeing the Lion King with my mom and sister (next post), and seeing great friends. I did ALL of the aforementioned things, and more, while my faithful hubby stayed home with our girl and had some quality time together (I think they went out for mexican twice and she wore sweatpants or jammies all weekend, but hey, to each their own).
More on the weekend later. What is noteworthy for the moment was the lion cub that awaited me when I returned. Now mind you, I was only gone ONE night. Not for days at a time. I only missed four meals, two naps, and one bedtime with her. But my child is, among many things, observant, and my absence did not go unnoticed. When I got home Sunday and excitedly went in to greet her from her nap she smiled and then unabashedly LOST it as she called for her "dada!!!" No big deal, I thought, as I quickly put on my big girl pants and tried to not melt in my own insecurities. So I went to change her diaper and she rolled away from me, buried her face in her changing pad, and refused to make eye contact with me.
I kid you not. I do not kid about abject rejection.
This continued for a good ten minutes complete with cold shoulder, stink eye, and "air swats" made in my general direction. But here's the thing, I have vowed to not play mother-daughter games with her, ever. Ever. What I mean by that is the trap that so many mothers and daughters fall into where the mom takes her daughters jabs personally and then passive-aggressively jabs back. If you don't know what I'm talking about you need to watch more Lifetime TV, and truth be told my mother was above this, and I want to be too.
So I tried to seem unphased, be consistent, and sure enough,
she came in like a lion and went out like a lamb.
She was giggling in my arms by nightfall and my world was right again.
It's me and you, kid. Don't forget it.
And because I get lost in my head sometimes, and because I'm a wannabe counselor, I can't help but comment on the self-protective (albeit sinful) technique my can't-yet-walk daughter used. You know the one. The "you hurt me so I will reject you so as to not be hurt again" technique. You left me. And it hurt. So I will shut you out. Not need you. Because I don't like hurt.
Reaching? I don't think so. God has set eternity in the hearts of men (and babies) and with that comes our sad and futile attempts to deal with our own pain.
So yes, I will go out of town again because I know it is worth it.
And yes, Harper will reject me again in hundred ways, I'm sure.
And rather than make it about me as a mother, I will try through gritted teeth and almost tears, to believe that in all of that, Jesus is setting the stage for her to know Him.
Strange as it sounds, it is so very important that Harper eventually realize that her daddy and I are simply NOT ENOUGH.
She needs more. So much more. She needs to be rescued.
And there is only one Man for the job.