If you thought this would be a post about Sexy Time you will be sorely disappointed. While The Jerk is my favorite movie of all time, sadly this morning I found that my special purpose is not so scintillating.
It seems from the moment I got pregnant I have been consumed with noting just how fast Em is growing up. Perhaps it is my hormones driving me to see that my “baby” is really quite capable of taking care of herself, so that I can shed a little of the guilt that comes with imagining trying to take care of an infant without taking anything away from the baby I have loved for the last six years.
If I am lucky when I wake up in the morning Em is still asleep. I revel in climbing in to bed with her and feeling her warm little body against mine. So many years of co-sleeping behind me, I miss her morning face. Her squinched up sleepy eyes as she awakes. And most of all the face she makes when she realizes that I know she is awake and she can’t fool me with her groaning an stretching. Occasionally I let her sleep in and she strolls in to the bathroom to chat with me while I shower. And more occasionally she is already awake when I get upstairs.
This morning she was up, lights on, door closed. This is a new thing for her, and one I am trying to respect. “Are you up, Em?”
“Yup, I’m getting dressed.”
Yesterday she received not one, but TWO new outfits in the mail from my mom AND a new pair of shoes. New shoes are to Emily roughly what they are to me. Nirvana. I certainly understood why she was up and ready to roll so early.
When I got out of the shower I hollered in to her room again. “Do your new shorts fit?”
“Yup, I just need to tighten the elastic.” If you have children, in particular one built like a bean pole, you are familiar. But for the sake of the three readers that might be reading that do not have kids I will explain. In most kid’s clothing these days there is elastic inside, with buttons, so as to tighten the waist to a particular size. To accommodate the bean poles, the kids that get taller every year but no bigger around. For this, I am grateful.
“You don’t need my help?”
She exits her bedroom, new outfit in place, socks perfectly folded down, new shoes tied. “Nope, I am going in three holes on each side. Fits perfectly.”
“So you don’t need me at all, do you? You’re all grown up?”
“No. I need you. ” An almost imperceptible pause. “To make sandwiches. And to pay.”
And there we have it. My Special Purpose. To make sandwiches. And to pay.
Damn kid, good thing she’s cute.