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Our camera has been missing in action for a couple of weeks now.  I genuinely have no idea what happened to it.  What’s odd about the loss is that the camera bag sits empty on my desk.  We never take the camera out without the bag to protect it, as a certain little someone is prone to wanting to carry it for us.  So, it must be in the house, but still – I can’t find it.  I’m surprised by how much I miss being able to take photographs of my little gal.  That silly camera has brought me so much happiness.

While I talking to the husband about it, Buttercup went to her room and was rummaging through her toy box, and I could hear the toys flying around.  Buttercup came in with her little pink camera held high, and she said in her sweetest voice, “Mommy, you can use my camera.”  It’s a nice camera for someone her age, a Vtech Kidizoom Digital Camera, and she’s gotten so much use out of it and been rather possessive of it in the past.  In this time of life with her where sharing and taking turns has become the biggest test, I was so moved by her generous act.

It’s times like that where the tug of war over a doll at a play-date or the stomping of a foot over impatience slip into the background and this bighearted and thoughtful character shines through.  The terrible twos are such a trip, but there it is – that enormous kindness we’ve been working on cultivating right in the forefront.

For her age, my girl has always been physically advanced as compared to the so-called milestones of childhood.  She’s always been a baby on a mission, and I’ll never ever forget how the first time I held her, a few hours after she’d been born, her little neck was strong.  She couldn’t quite hold it up on her own, but I could feel the strength in it.  I’ve held lots of babies, but she was born with this incredible vitality.

How things have changed - and now, she’s climbing, jumping, running, leaping through the world.  When we were last on the playground, she climbed to the top of the rock-wall on the big kid’s playground.  She’s such a sturdy confident little person.

My brother told me when he was here last; he’d been terrified she was going to fall when she was romping on her slide.  I told him, “She never falls, she never has.”  It’s true, too.  She might take a leap in a direction she shouldn’t, but she’s never been one to fall down, even as a wee little gal.  All her movements are intentional.

It’s because of this that I think raising her has always been what my father would likely call watchful waiting.  She’s always excelled, and I’ve tried to allow her the room to try things out on her own.  While my heart may be pounding in my chest while she’s conquering her latest mountain, I have to stand back and hold myself still to give her that freedom to try the world on for size.  She’s so relentlessly brave, bold, and audacious.  It’s so challenging to temper that without damaging it.  I want her to become that as a woman - that alive and fearless.