Of a Tender Heart

I love Micaiah's sweet heart.  She can be having the crummiest day attitude-wise, but the minute she hears someone isn't feeling up to par, she's there to make them feel right.

The other day, as we got home from a day of working in the church library, a task this pregnant body is finding more and more difficult with each passing day, I sat for a moment in the car after pulling into the garage, just to catch my breath.  Concerned I wasn't moving to eject her or her brother from their respective seats, Micaiah asked, "Mommy, you alright?"

"Well, the baby is hurting right now" I explained as I rubbed a sore spot on my expanding belly.  This explanation, though sad to her, seemed to make sense as she confirmed, "Oh, your tummy hurt?"

Later, after lunch, as I released her from the booster seat, she asked, "Mommy, you okay?" 

Feeling just fine, and forgetting our conversation from earlier, I answered, "Yeah, I'm okay; are you okay?"

"Yeah, your penguin not hurting anymore?"

Man, that girl is the greatest.

Then, this evening, as Daddy spent the day away, having valuable guy-time, a second-trimester morning (aka evening) sickness was hitting me.  Trying my best to bear through the day when I could barely move off the couch, the kids spent a lot of time in front of the television.  At one point, she turned to me, hoping to cuddle with mama - something I would have loved, if the squirminess of a three-year-old wouldn't send me over the edge.  Sadly, I had to decline.  It took her awhile to understand, which just broke my heart as she asked in as many ways as she could think of.  Finally, I started to cry.

"Mommy, are you sad?"

"Yes, baby, because I want to spend time with you, I just can't."

I covered my eyes to compose myself and when I re-opened them, she had vanished.  Emmett sat slapping and squawking in my face (thanks for the empathy, buddy), but his sister had disappeared.  Seconds later she re-appeared with the blanket from her bed.

"Here you go, Mommy," she said tenderly as she spread the covering over me in an attempt to ease my sorrows.

I will ever be grateful for my little girl.