The Spark

(modeling her winter clothes)

I never thought about the little things. I assumed they came without ceremony, and that no one actually noticed or witnessed them. And maybe some of them do flutter away like that- but not this one.

The house was quiet- oddly quiet. Sky was at work, and Millie hadn't followed me from room to room like she usually does. My calls for her were left unanswered. I went to the doorway of her bedroom and tilted my head inside. She had pulled all of her blankets through the bars of the crib into a pile on the floor, and was laying across them, tucking her favorite one under her arm. She smiled when she noticed I was standing there.

I sat down and leaned against her dresser, and she hopped towards me. She put a yellow knitted afghan over my legs, and said, "Shh." in a comforting, soft tone. And I closed my eyes obediently and thought to myself, there it is. There is the spark. In that swift but piercing moment, Millie found her imagination. 

When I would rub a hand over my belly and imagine her, I imagined big things- her first words, her first steps. I even thought about her first time in the snow. I never considered the little parts of it all, like teaching her to use a spoon, or the first time she would know what was coming in a story before I read it. Or her imagination blooming in front of me. 

And I think some of the greatest gifts have been those I didn't know I was getting.