I was on a cleaning mission in my daughters room. Trying to balance myself in the little tent house of hers, I stepped my knee on a bowl that had made all its way from the kitchen cabinet to this little tent house filled up with all the tiny creatures that take turns in being my daughters kids.
“What’s this bowl doing in here, honey?”
“Oh, my little bear was hungry so I made some porridge for him” “You dont worry he’s going to be fine, Im taking care of him”
(Oh really, am I worried about your bear being hungry :-p)
I struggled to get out of the tent, losing hope to clean up the mess inside and looking at the bed as my next target. As I pull the bed cover I find a cute little doll wrapped up in my shirt.
“And what is your doll doing with my shirt?”
“Oh this one, this one was so scared, it’s just my little baby. The spider was here so I hided (hid) her in your shirt and put it here. She’s just safe, you dont worry. Shes just my little baby…”
She pulled the bed cover and spread it back patting the doll “aww baby you’re going to be fine”
I moved myself back and sat on the corner of the bed. As I looked around the room, beautifully decorated with fairies wallpaper and hot pink paint, oily hand prints on the wardrobe doors, few stains on the wall, colours scattered on the table… I forget the cleaning campaign I was on. I mean, come on, few years? may be three or four and then she will be a big girl? there would be no secret hideouts for the toys, no worries on why mommy’s not letting me hug her at night, no poop diapers (that’s actually a good thing)
I feel like clinging onto the memories, writing every single detail of how and when and why (yes the endless why’s!) Thinking that may be 20 years down the lane, when my daughter will be in the ” do not disturb” mode, I could read all this, drive down the memory lane and recall every moment.
I dont feel like cleaning these hand prints, cute little hands on the wall that will grow big soon. I feel like putting a frame around them and save them from fading away with time. These memories are just to precious to fade away.
May be my little daughter will grow up and go through these writings and think of how much mommy loved her…
As a tear trickles down my eye, and have all but no one to wipe it clean, I see her sleeping peacefully, thinking: only if she was up she would ask me,” mommy why are you crying? ” and hug me tight and say ”I’m here to take care of you, you my little baby” or may be “dont cry your baba will come on thursday”….