Reading an article a couple days ago, the author described her morning wake-up ritual. Her three year old padded down the stairs, opened her bedroom door, climbed into bed with her and barraged her with a string of hilarious and heart-warming sentences.
And just for a second I felt that old twinge again... the one that almost feels like pain in my heart, as I thought to myself, "Oh how I would love to hear Cora speak to me like that one day..."
I don't know why it has to be painful, even if it's only for a second or two. Because even though there are no guarantees, I do believe that she'll be talking one day.
It's just one of those things. Waiting, hoping, having faith. And realizing that all the other seconds, minutes, hours of the days I am truly happy with where she is.
The elation I feel when she speaks her one-word approximations is hard to beat. The joy I get daily in really just taking in the funniness, the silliness, the absolute loveliness that she is. Hearing her giggle, or watching her come up so close that our noses are touching, as she cups my face and whispers to me her language of jabbers and gestures... Seeing her ham it up as she dances around the room, arms and face raised to the ceiling belting out some words I can only guess at...
No, I don't feel sorry for me. And I don't feel sorry for her. Sure, one day I would love to hear her whisper a complete and coherent sentence in my ear. But even if I don't, it will be enough.