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I Need Space — But it Can Wait

I turn around from grabbing an ingredient out of the refrigerator and she is there, underfoot.

I stand up after cleaning out the counter under the bathroom sink, and my stiff-from-crouching knees nearly trip over her little body.

I swoosh around the kitchen in a flurry, trying to put groceries away while she keeps one hand on my pant leg.

I settle down to nurse the baby, and her wiggly body is nudging its way first onto my lap, then over my shoulders, then at my feet.

I hurry out the door, and accidentally bonk her in the head with the car seat because she is lingering too close by my side in too tight of a space.

I feel frustration.  I feel too needed.  I want space to myself.  I speak a little too harshly.

And then, when she is in bed and the house is quiet, I sneak into her room and crawl in her bed, where I hold her as close as possible.

And I vow to do better tomorrow.  For she is growing up faster than I can grasp — she is getting more independent by the day.  One day, she won’t want to play the role of my shadow.  And I will miss it.

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