This is is just a quick note of love, to share how my child awes me.  We expect she will need a blood transfusion on Monday (in less than 48 hours).

What I’m about to share has all happened within the last 36 hrs.

At night, before falling asleep:  “I need a new body,” she tells me, lying in the dark.

“You do?” I ask. 

“You need a new body, too,” she adds.

“We both need new ones, huh.” 

“Yes.”

“Well, it’s kind of tricky to get new bodies… And I really love you and want to stay here with you. So let’s keep these ones as long as we can.” 

Then, more for myself for than for her, I add: “If we do need new bodies, God will help us find ones where we can be together again.”

She cuddles up, wraps her arms around me, and sings songs about how much she loves me.

The next morning, we are petting the cat together. He tries to squiggle out of her arms and eventually succeeds.  She begins to cry.  So I catch the cat and we re-locate to the sofa. I wrap her and the cat together in a blanket knit by one of her aunts. (We call it the Rainbow Blanket – often it becomes a princess dress for her to walk regally through the house as I sing that tune they play for the Queen of England… or it becomes a mermaid tail.)  

I lie next to them.  They are wrapped together tight.  The cat is not amused.

“He has a grumpy face,” she says.

I giggle.  “He does,” I agree.

“Hamiya,” she says, “even though you’re grumpy, you love and accept yourself exactly as you are.”

I stifle another giggle and tell her that’s a wonderful idea.  I do EFT tapping on the cat’s head and repeat the affirmation for him as she holds him.  He does seem to relax a bit.

“Is he feeling better now?”

“Yes,” she says.

Later that day, she is playing in the bathtub as I am detangling her hair.  

“You have to accept yourself as you are,” she tells her baby frog toy. “What?” She replies as baby frog.  “Say, ‘I accept my body exactly as it is,'” she tells the frog.

“What? Where’d you learn that? Who says that?” I ask.

“I say that,” she replies, “every morning, when I leave my friends [she names them] and come to the Mama Planet.”

I smile. “This is the Mama Planet?”

“Yes, when I open my eyes I come to the Mama Planet.”

And then, we are getting ready for bed and she won’t put on her pajamas.  She protests that she wants to sleep in her dress.

“It’s beautiful,” she says, “I want to look beautiful to see [her friends in her dreams].”

“Oh,” we say, her dad and I, in unison.

So of course, we let her.  Because who can argue with wanting to wear your most beautiful dress when you leave Earth for the friends who live in your dreams?

***

Good Saturday morning, Mama Planet.  🙂  May you all be blessed with a beautiful day!