Clapping

For those who know Riley, you know that she loves sounds. Snapping fingers make her laugh. Cell phone rings make her raise her eyebrows and turn excitedly to find one of her favorite technologies. The moment I pull up the e-brake and turn off the car, she starts to kick her legs and looks up at me in the rear-view mirror with an open-mouthed smile.

So it's exciting, for me and her, that my babe learned how to clap this week. Though her claps aren't making any sound yet, which sometimes seems to confuse her, they're claps nonetheless as she's putting her hands together open-fisted (or is it open-handed) for the first time. The best part is that when we return her claps with our own, the hugest smile breaks out and she looks thrilled with herself that she's somehow caused this great, fun event.

So many moms have told me to soak it up because it goes so fast, and I think I'm finally starting to understand, really understand, the truth of what they're saying. We visited my new nephew, Micah, last weekend, and I can hardly remember the little Bean when she was that young and small. I can hardly remember her before she could smile, before she could reach to grab my cell phone, before she could pull a book to her lap so that she could chew on the corner.

I feel the thick tension between wanting to remember the beautiful parts of her past and being fully present with her in the moment. I feel the need to organize the hundreds of pictures we've already taken and also to put down my camera to sit and play with her on the floor. I'm already telling stories that start with "Remember when she used to ... ?" while trying not to trap her in those memories but allow her to grow and change and surprise me. I'm sure this tension will only get stronger, but so, I hope, will my knowledge of who she is so that I can encourage her toward her future rather than ruminate in her past. But wow, the pull of the past is strong because the unknown of the future is too.