A year ago, I wasn’t thankful for my little turkey. At barely 4 weeks old, she was still a mystery who demanded more of me than I knew I possessed. I was still begging Scott to “just take her back” and feeling terribly guilty that I couldn’t find joy in sniffing her head, holding her close or being her mom.
A year ago, I was going through the motions of being thankful for my little girl, going through one of the hardest times in my life, completely unsure of whether I would come out of the dark tunnel I felt stuck in.
Oh, truly what a difference a year makes.
As I sit at the breakfast table, watching her put each piece of pineapple in her mouth, make her “sour face”, stick her finger in her milk and use it to finger paint on the table, I am overwhelmed with thankfulness.
I’m thankful for her mischievous, curious and independent mind. I’m thankful for her wrinkled nose, her gravelly laugh and her toothy grin. I’m thankful for her elephant sounds, her love of peek-a-boo, and her ability to constantly be on the move. I’m thankful for her slobbery kisses, her snug little hugs and her very rare but oh so precious cries of “Mama”.
It’s still hard at times. I worry about what struggles she’ll have as a teenager. I worry that she’s not getting enough calcium since she refuses to drink milk. I worry that those first few weeks when I felt so resentful and so guilty over being resentful are the reason that she is, beyond all doubt, a daddy’s girl.
But her shriek of excitement over a song out of her teapot, the way her eyes light up when she sees a picture of a panda, and her outstretched finger accompanying her “whassat?” help to silence the worry, the doubt, the guilt.
And in their place, there are overwhelming amounts of thankfulness.