From day one, I have had more time with Patrice than I had with her sisters. Due to the degeneration of my mental health, I had a longer maternity leave with her. I was off work a couple times due to my mental health, so was with her more, then I got laid off from my job when she was two. I’ve had lots of time with her since.
Conversely, her sisters were in daycare at about 3 months old, I worked my typical hours, and then they were off to school and away from me for many hours a day.
This difference, during the early days of my mental illness, really struck me. I became terrified with the fact that God was giving me more time with her at a young age because she was going to be taken away from me.
I enjoyed the extra time, surrounded by fear and sadness at the coming loss of my daughter.
Life kept moving, and here we are at 4 years old and she is still with me. And I love that little gift. Her birth may have brought struggle and depression, but her life sure hasn’t.
She loves to give huggies and kissies. She is a bundle of energy, but always comes back for a quick moment in my lap. She herself put it best about a year ago, she said, “mommy, I’m pretty much always happy.” And she is.
Don’t get me wrong, she is a very normal little girl. She cries when corrected, she runs to her room when mad, and she can needle her sisters with a great deal of skill.
She has a passion that just draws me in. I love to indulge her love of monkeys, her desire to do homework, drink nolk (milk), and be just a bit of a stinker. Her eyes just dance when she is happy.
The fear of losing her is not as constant as it was after her birth, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit it crosses my mind several times a week. Is the Lord giving me this gift to comfort me later. I know it is ridiculous, but it is there. So, I hug her a bit tighter, cuddle her a bit longer, and just take every opportunity to love on her.
And watch her sleep. Every night, I find myself for a moment or two, standing near her bed, hoping my footsteps don’t wake her. I just stand there and watch her sleep, listen to her breathe.
My little Patrice, my capstone.
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