Jamanas

As I sat in the restaurant directly across from you my heart was full.  Like every time we are together, I was stopped by a stranger asking if you were my daughter.

I smiled nervously, knowing only moments before you had dropped red jello all over the floor of Souplantation.

As I responded "yes", the kind woman's eyes widened as she exclaimed "she's really, really cute!"

As I replied with gratitude she continued on the way they always do, as if to add "and I'm not just saying that..."

I said my thank yous again and as I sat there I began to write out how wonderful it feels to have so many people in the world touched by your presence.  To see them smile, laugh, stare in amusement while you try to carefully shovel slippery jello into your mouth... It made me proud to know you're mine. 

What I dub your "Interpretive gymnastics" is your latest, er', interesting thing.  It is when all of the other kids in your class pay attention and you decide instead of practicing cartwheels you will do... other... quite... odd... movements that can only be described as a hippy providing an aura cleansing over the gymnastics studio.

You are quite an influence on the other toddlers, often noticing spiders that lie in hiding under the large trampolines.  Your coaches sigh when you point them out, drawing the other children to focus on the creatures instead of doing as they're told. I wouldn't call you a bad influence- I would just say you're definitely my child and you will likely always have your own interpretive way of doing things and lose focus on the task at hand.  Some people will find it endearing.  However, if you do pirouettes and kick-ball-changes on the soccer field in high school during practice you might get admonished by the angry history teacher-turned-coach, and if you wander off barefoot during cheer class, you might get scorned at by that coach, too.

I may or may not know from experience.

In a way, you're kind of more than I can handle.

In a way, you're kind of all I need most days.

In a way I'm holding on to every word you say, and yet quietly begging the Gods to help you refrain from so much jibber-jabber.  You are in the "why" stage and for the first time ever I have absolutely no come back to an inquiry.

I can't even make one up.

I cry on the inside every time you ask "why?".  I smile on the outside when you refer to your pjs as "jamanas".

And even though you love putting jamanas on at night you prefer to sleep in the buff, and those jamanas fly off in the moment before you settle into your pillow.

It's just you.  You're kind of nuts, with your wild hair, preference for nudity and interpretive gymnastics.

It's just you.  

And I love you and I am grateful you are mine.