12 years in the making

Things have been going comparatively well. Lilah is growing more mobile and more crafty by the minute. I was a bit concerned for a very short while that she wasn't adequately meeting her milestones. She could sit up easily enough, but the moment she saw something mildly entertaining and seemingly within arm's reach, over she toppled so she could better scoot after it (these amusing things included anything from one of her toys to a piece of fuzz on the carpet). I never could tell if her muscles were developed enough to support her, or if her spine was straight enough for her to sit up for long periods of time. Strangely enough, when her attention span lengthened, so did the amount of time she spent sitting up on her own.

Crawling was something else I was wondering about. Don't get me wrong - my kid could move. She could scuttle around the carpet until she made it to hardwood, and then she was off. She'd simulate a breaststroke as fast as her little arms and legs could flail. She could also get on her hands and knees and rock back and forth, grinning up at us, and propel herself backward at top speeds. I recently discovered my little daughter had been holding out on me.

It was one of those days Lilah wanted every member of her family within reaching-distance of her chubby arms while she played. We didn't have to be interacting with her just as long as she could touch and see us at all times. This meant no leaving for extended periods of time, no unnecessary bathroom breaks, and a lot of non-floor activities being conducted on the floor (such as decorating a cheesecake). I had to get the cappuccino cheesecake decorated before Max's confirmation party, but Lilah wasn't having any of it. I ended up transporting my cheesecake on a plate, bowl of Kahlua-infused whipped cream, and chocolate decorative autumn leaves to a place on the rug about three feet from Lilah. She wasn't that fast on carpet, and I would have plenty of time to stop her before she got too close. I set to work on my masterpiece, but it wasn't too many minutes before Lilah started fussing over one thing or another. Exasperated, I went to her and gave her a tiny taste of whipped cream. Her pretty blueberry eyes lit up like purple stars and she was placated. I went back to work and was shocked when a tiny fist dove into my bowl of whipped cream literally seconds later. She had clearly teleported from her toys three feet away to my workspace after realizing I had sweet stuff she normally wasn't allowed to taste.

Upon cleaning out the closet today, I fondly opened up several boxes of my American Girl Doll collection. I remember the Christmas I got my first doll. I had asked my mom if I could have the one named Felicity the first time I saw her smiling back at me from the glossy pages of the catalogue. I had been told very apologetically that one doll was almost a hundred dollars, and her entire collection of beautiful things almost a thousand, and the money for something that extravagant just wasn't there that year. I was 10, I think, and cried pitifully, promising I'd go without birthday presents, or presents for Christmas next year, if I could just have this doll. The answer didn't change. By Christmas, I still hadn't forgotten that in the modest pile of brightly wrapped packages, there should have been a pretty green-eyed doll. I hadn't opened very many when I noticed that beneath the paper of one rectangular box, there was a white cardboard box with burgundy trim - clearly the American Girl colors. Nestled inside was my treasured doll. It was one of the happiest Christmases I can remember and I flashed back to it vividly when I was cleaning. I collected for years and ended up with thousands of dollars worth of dolls, beautiful dresses, furniture, and accessories. In the back of my mind after I outgrew tending to my doll family, I always made sure to take meticulous care of my treasures. Somehow, I knew I would someday have a lovely daughter and I would be able to pass down my collection.

I pulled Felicity out of her watermarked and wrinkled box, smoothed the wrinkles from her dress, and took her downstairs. I knew full-well that Lilah was far too young to appreciate or probably care at all. She doesn't have any dolls currently. I had put my foot down with all our well-meaning friends and family. "No dolls. I want to get her her very first doll, and I don't want it to talk, pee, cry, walk, get sick, eat, or do anything at all." My wishes were respected, and this Christmas, I will buy Lilah a doll of her very own and I wanted to see how she would react. Doll under one arm and Lilah under the other, I plopped her down on the couch and placed the doll in her lap. She let out this amazing squeal and her eyes were as wide as dinner plates as she held out her arms to the doll's face. I told her "gentle", and she softly ran her fingers through the vinyl hair and touched the green glass eyes that opened and closed. She was completely in awe and full of happy coos and I did my best not to cry. That moment had been 12 years in the making, and it was absolute magic.