That’s My Girl
The toy giraffe crashes to the ground with a squeak, followed by the roar of a devastated infant.
In the case of such dire emergency, Marie, my two-year-old, gasps and grasps her chest.
“Oh no! ‘Lizbet need help! I help her!”
The small girl scoots off her chair, dashes over to the abandoned plastic animal, and props it safely back in her baby sister’s hands. Crisis averted. The baby beams.
And so do I.
“That’s my girl,” I think, watching my toddler climb methodically back into her chair to resume dinner. I can’t suppress the soul-swelling pride that travels into my curling lips. “That’s my girl.”
If any of you follow me on Facebook or Twitter, it’s likely you’ve seen a few of my posts with the hashtag #thatsmygirl. As a stay-at-home mom, I am constantly with my two daughters and I find myself repeating those words as we crusade together through daily life.
Like, for instance, when Marie willingly (and repeatedly) dips her chocolate chip cookie in ketchup. #thatsmygirl
Or when she insists that her younger sister be part of the game she’s playing. #thatsmygirl
Or how one of her favorite TV shows is Jeopardy. #thatsmygirl
Or when she does something like this:
It is in these moments when the cup of my heart bubbles up and overflows. It is in these very special moments that I can’t believe I get to be her Mommy.
It is also in those moments when I wonder about myself as a daughter. After all, my Father is constantly with me as we crusade together through daily life.
And I pray I may live a life that makes Him beam, the cup of His heart overflowing, as He repeatedly finds Himself saying, “That’s my girl.”