Miss Rhyse

June 18, 2012
My baby turned three yesterday.  You know how you usually celebrate birthdays?  Honestly, I wanted nothing to do with her turning three.  I even decided to postpone her celebration till a later date when it wasn’t Father’s Day and when Getti could be here, partly because I just don’t want her to grow up.  Can you still call a three year old your baby?  Can you still cuddle her, let her have a blankie and suck her thumb?  Her talking is improving daily and her comprehension almost by the minute.  She has an old rocking chair in her room where I have rocked and nursed almost all the children.  We hardly use it anymore, and during my practical times I think about removing it to give her more room to play.  But then I realize that I wouldn’t have that nursery feeling anymore and I just can’t do it.  Is this my last child?  Have I held and nursed my last baby?  What is a home like without a baby to entertain and unite everyone? Sometimes Rhyse in her rebellious moments will kick and scream and the strength of her body is almost more than I can control.  There are times, more times than I want to acknowledge, where she doesn’t want me to comfort her.  For the last little while I’ve been singing to her at night.  “You are my Sunshine,” was the song I picked because that is what she is.   We’ve done it long enough that now we lay there together and she lifts her little chin and belts it out with me her wild fuzzy tinkerbell hair sticking up all over the place.  I’m touched every night by her innocence and how much she means to me.  Something is special about Rhyse.  I honestly feel that she has been my angel.  Her spirit has comforted my own on a deeply spiritual level many a time.  Her calmness, her love, her acceptance has carried me through difficult times.  I still find myself going into her room during a challenging  time just to be near her.  I love how she can find such solace, how she can rest her mind and let her body sleep for however long it needs.  I love he she often says, “sure” when I ask her if she wants to do things.  I love how she quietly and happily plays independently in any environment.  I love how comfortable she is with herself.  I love how often she points out a beautiful day.  I crave her hugs and sparkly eyes.  Rhyse has united our family.  She is a light that we all turn to, that we all jointly smile about, that we yearn to be near.  As she matures and is beginning to experiment with different attitudes, behaviors, and temperments sometimes at the end of a long day I wonder if I’m losing that precious spirit to a wild, kicking, name-calling toddler.  But then I tuck her in at night, listen to her sweet little voice sing with me, and watch that wrinkled little thumb work its almost opium like magic, and see her hand stroke her blankie, I realize that my baby is still there.   Her soul is beautiful, a gift from my Heavenly Father, and I am excited to watch it further develop and expand.  Thank you God, for this precious child.