I often look down at you, and I see those sweet eyes staring up at me. “Mama, will you pick you up? Mama, will you come and play with me?” I see your eyes inquiring. Many times, from my view all the way up here, it’s easy to pass these opportunities by. To smile at you sweetly and tell you to be on your way, to go and play with your toys.

But when I come down to your level, baby girl, it’s another story.

When I come down to your level, I see you. Face-to-face.

When I come down to your level, this is where those ordinary moments become extraordinary.

I take in every detail on your face. I see the scrunch on your nose as you make a silly face. I trace your little lips turned upward in a toothy grin. I hold your chunky little fingers with food remnants under the nails. I scrutinize the bits of hair poking out from your hair tie, coming undone from your fervent play.

And I look into those eyes. Oh, those eyes! They take my breath away. Why? Because I see you. And in you, I see me. And there’s something about that sense of familiarity that just catches me off-guard. In those same eyes, I see your daddy. I see your sister. I see your nana. I feel like you’re an old soul I’ve known forever, but yet, your best days are still ahead of you.

And then, I get that same old nostalgia that’s been haunting me since the day I became a mother. You know that strange feeling, when you’re already missing the moments even as you’re living them. I physically ache thinking about how much I will miss this time. What happens when I turn to look into your eyes and all of a sudden, you’ve grown up? What happens when you’ve gone and I’m left here, to mourn these ordinary days, the best days of my life?

And so, baby girl, I come down to your level. Please help me to remember these moments. Please help me to etch them into my mind so I can pull down these memories in the future when I need them.

Please don’t let me forget your littleness. Help remind me to not be too busy to get down and play with you. Pull me down to your level. That darn phone—please help remind me that it’s not as important as you. I don’t want to look down at my phone then look up to find a young woman staring back at me. 

Let me come down to your level, baby girl. That laundry and the house—please help remind me that it can wait. Tug on my ankles until I give in and remember what’s really important.

I know there are so many things that need to be done. 

But please.

Pull me down to your level, baby girl, and let’s enjoy this time before you grow.

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