"And could you keep your heart in wonder at the daily miracles of life, your pain would not seem less than your joy." --Kahlil Gibran
What could this possibly mean to you right now, my daughter, at 19 months of age? The whole world is full of joy for you these days. You are even starting to obsess about certain things that bring you boundless joy, such as the sight of the moon or Elmo. You smile when you see me, you smile and laugh when you are around your daddy and aunts and uncles and cousins. You have transitioned so effortlessly into new childcare, and you are obviously better at this than I am because this morning I watched you sitting and playing on the new sitter's floor and I was thinking, "don't you want to cry just a little because I am leaving?" You didn't and I did.
If I could keep you in this state of joyful innocence for the rest of your life, I would pay anything. But this is not how it works, and I can see that you are just starting to notice this fact. You now scream and cry at any person in a white coat, due to a few knock-you-off-your-feet illnesses. You have seen me cry (a lot) in the last couple of months, and this confuses and troubles you.
Maybe together we can use the words of Kahlil Gibran. He is right, you know, pain and joy are both part of the daily miracles that find us in life. I think we just need to open our arms a little wider and accept this. Let's search for the moon every night, let's dance to every piece of music that moves us, let's cry when we get sick or get a shot, or throw ourselves on the floor when we are angry.
Yes, it is wise to keep my arms open for the little miracles of every day, as to not miss the chance that you might come laughing and running into those arms, which is the biggest miracle of all.
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