It was a Saturday morning I was getting ready to go to the opening day of the St. Joseph Farmer's Market. I was hurrying everyone through a late breakfast slightly annoyed that it was late and that Abigail had not made breakfast (a self-declared responsibility). I was looking forward to a morning alone talking with farmers, hopefully, sneaking a peek of Bound for Freedom, and hitting Target for a baby shower gift. Alone as in by myself.
But she wanted to go, desperately wanted to go with me. Asking for a mommy-date, promising not to whine, not to pout, not to beg. Mostly because I didn't want to be a mean ol' mommy that early in the morning. I didn't say no.
I wanted to go alone, to think my own thoughts, to reacquaint myself with this little town on the edge of Lake Michigan.
Instead, I walked the streets of St. Joe with new eyes. With a hand in mine and all sorts of excitement beside me. With little peeks into the heart and mind of the little girl whose life is intertwined with mine. I saw delight when we found hot chocolate mix free from child labor worries. I heard oooohs and ahhhhs over every puppy, every baby and nearly every craft we passed. I shared smells and sights and conversation and the morning with that little hand in mine attached to a growing every taller body sheathed in a mismatch even I couldn't come up with carrying a heart, mind, and soul that leaves me achingly in love, and desperate for the proper thanks for the Giver.
Thankfully, I remembered my sunglasses. No one had to see the tears--deep gratitude--as I realized that what I had been dreaming of and praying for was coming true before my eyes and I almost said, "No."