FALLING

As I have mentioned before in earlier blogs, it can be difficult for me to find things for GiGi and I to do together. She doesn't tend to interact very much with things beyond her own reach. I often say that she is in "her world” and she doesn't let me into her world very often. This is something that I have grown to accept. I watch her have seemingly meaningful, intense, and quirky interactions with a calculator or a spatula and I'm ok with that. I get to watch her and she is happy in her world. Much of her time is focused on doing the circuit she has created around the house. The best way to describe this would be to explain it from the end: She finishes a go-round by standing by the back door, wanting to go out to use her swing or spend some quality time kicking the river stones that lines the side of the house. She waits a minute or two and then continues by revisiting her touchstones: the dining room table, the kitchen sink, the family room built-in counter etc. Then she runs really fast towards the wall in the family room and at the last minute, when you think she is going to collide into the wall, she pulls up and makes this sound as if she is laughing. Not really a giggly kind of laugh but like a maniacal kind of laugh as if to say angrily to the wall, "Ha!, you thought I was going to hit you but I didn't". Then back to the door. Sometimes she climbs onto the back of the couch to just longingly stare at the swing. I don't think she has the ability to do this for the drama effect; she is really looking outside wishing she was there.

About two months ago, while George and Taki were at basketball, GiGi and I were hanging out at the house. She was dressed and doing her usual obstacle course in the house. After about thirty minutes or so of this I got dressed and decided I was going to take her for a walk. After all, the leaves have all fallen and they are bright and beautiful and crunchy. It is my favorite time of the year and I would like to share this with my first born. After making this decision I had to figure out a way to get her past the back door and into the living room to the front door. Once she can touch the front door she is fine, it's getting her there without her flopping that's the problem. And when I say flopping, I don't mean a 2 year old "I don't want to go" flopping. I mean a sixty pound, 8 year old, "I know how to throw my weight around and pull a muscle in your back" kind of flopping. We made it to the door, after the usual battle maneuvers.
We got outside and it was a glorious. A picture perfect brisk fall day. The sun was shining and the air was crisp. I had to strongly guide her to the edge of the driveway and then things got easier. She allowed me to hold her hand and show her around the neighborhood, (this was our first walk around since we moved here). I made sure she hit every leave pile so she could drag her feet through them. We held hands and I told her stories of when I was a little girl in New England and why I loved the fall so much. All in all we spent about thirty minutes walking and talking. I noticed she was staying with me with little coaxing. I began to swing her hand in mine and sing songs she used to love. It was such a special walk among the leaves.
Later on that night I could not stop thinking of our time earlier in the day. How our worlds came together or maybe it was more like me letting her into my world. I get stuck so much on her not letting me into her world that I don't give her the opportunity to come into mine. Are they really two different worlds? Do I separate them because of the pain that I hold on to? Maybe she invites me to her world and I don't listen to her tugs, her laughter, and her cries. What about her pain? So many new questions that may or may not have answers. But these questions also bring new ideas and appreciation for what is really most important: spending time with my precious girl no matter if she grants passage to her world or not, I'm here for her no matter where she is. I'm her mom.