My Beach Babe

She was wearing a mismatched napping outfit - white pajama bottoms with pink pigs and a gray bird t-shirt. Her tiny toenails were pink from a recent pedicure, though her fingernails were already scraggly bits of purple from her bad habit of picking them. Her hair - oh her hair! - was an amplified version of its normal self, made extra curly by the humidity and extra crazy by the nap. A little larabar-mustache completed her look. It was the perfect package for her beautiful, sweet, quirky soul.

No plans. No phone. No baby brother. No imminent errands or packing.

Just us.

On the beach.

Her love language is quality time, just like her daddy. Unfortunately, in the last two weeks, I haven't had the margin to time-love her. She has heard a lot of "Hang on, baby" and "Not right now, baby" and "Would you like to watch some Daniel Tiger?" in the last two weeks.  Not something I'm particularly proud of or ashamed of - a moving momma has to do what she has to do.

But our last few days in Georgia were really rough for her. There were a lot of tears and quite a few meltdowns and plenty of defiance. She saw her whole world get packed up in boxes, and I know our stress and preoccupation was not lost on her.

I've been aching for some moments to just be with her.

Her body was still heavy with sleep as I carried her out to the beach, but it only took a few seconds of sea air to waken her. The temperature was perfectly neutral, the sun occasionally emerging from friendly clouds, and the water was warm. We started with no agenda, but one quickly emerged with her first exclamation of: "Oh look, Mom! A shell!"

And so it went for an hour. Every time she discovered a tiny shell in the sand, she lit up with the same excitement. Soon I had a sandy hand full of shells, because each of her discoveries quickly became a gift to me. And she said 'Mom' over and over and over, as though we both needed to be reminded of the importance of our relationship.

Because words are my love language, I try to be intentional about repeating important things to her when the moment is appropriate. One such thing I regularly say is, "I am yours and you are mine. I have access to your heart, and you have access to mine." In this stage of her life, she usually responds with a mischievous grin and the correction that, "I am MINE and you are YOURS" (I'm bracing myself for more abrasive reactions in the future). I know she is just being silly, but sometimes that rings truer than I'd like to admit. Sometimes I just don't make my heart (which beats loudly with love for her) available in the way I'd like to.

So I am thankful today for a God whose grace is fully accessible to me and sufficient for me.

And for salty, sandy, sacred moments with my girl.