When I picked D up from daycare today, she was her usual jovial little self. Sitting in front of the mirrored play boxes, she was happy as a clam with one of those cloth books in her lap. Save the 2 bags of pooped-on clothes in her cubby, it seemed it had been a pretty good day.
Then on the way out we were sitting in a chair in front of the classroom next to D’s as I was putting her hat and coat on, when I happened to glance in the door of that room. One of the little girls in there, maybe a few months older than D, was sitting on the floor just sobbing and looking out at us. Big crocodile tears, bottom lip quivering and sticking out as far as humanly possible, tiny little chest and neck heaving with each huge crying gulp. Oh.my.god. Somebody pick that girl up and love her to death!! I felt so horrible seeing her just sitting there in what appeared to be utter agony. Turns out she was just upset because the little playmate next to her had taken away the dump truck she’d been playing with, but still! I wanted to rush in there and smother her with hugs.
And then I realized this whole motherhood thing really has changed me. You see, before I had D, I would have seen that baby crying and thought oh man, she looks unhappy, that’s too bad. But now? I took one look at that ridiculously sad little face and instantly flipped into oh-my-gosh-i-have-to-go-rescue-that-baby mode. The exact same thing happens when D has one of her crying jags. They don’t happen often, fortunately, but when that inconsolable cry starts, I just feel like my heart is being ripped out until I can fix whatever is wrong. That’s my job now – fix it! Make it better!
Yep, I’m a mommy.
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