15990392891_de5c8fd841As long as I live, I don’t think I will ever cease to be amazed at how different my kids are. There are many similarities, of course, but for having come from the same gene pool, they are all so unique. This is particularly true of our middle child, Veronica. She recently turned four, so I have been a bit more reflective about her lately.
All of our children look similar to each other, favoring my husband, with our fourth being the boy version of our first, and our fifth being a repeat of our second. Veronica, however, is basically a carbon copy of myself at her age, right down to her often quirky mannerisms. Occasionally it startles me during our long days together, as I flash back to my own childhood. She is extremely bright, with huge brown eyes that suck you in as she asks you some hilarious question.
I was recently telling someone the story of how I went to my 37 week check up with her, only to find that she had flipped breech since my 36 week appointment. We were shocked. None of our babies had ever been breech, at any point, and besides, what baby has room to flip around at that point? But as I recounted the story, I laughed, noting her current acrobatic, spider monkey-like antics. Barely on the growth chart, she is all arms and legs and loves hugs, particularly of the koala bear variety. We frequently have to remind her that we don’t (literally) climb people.
Now, bear with me while I go off on a slight tangent for a second here. I have not liked cats from the time I was little. I’ve always thought they were annoying, climbing all over you and demanding your attention no matter what you were doing. (Cat lovers, stay with me!) In fact, I have only met three cats that I’ve liked, and all of them were fairly antisocial, preferring to hide rather than use me as a jungle gym. Throughout the last four years, it has become more and more apparent that Veronica is basically the human version of a cat. She is happiest when she is in my lap, no matter what I am doing. This is fine if we’re reading a book, but obviously a bit more of a challenge if I am washing dishes. (“Can you hold me?”)
Meanwhile, I myself am basically the human version of a robot. I can go for quite an extended period of time (days! weeks!) without being lonely. I do like people, but as an introvert with a million hobbies (who homeschools two of her five kids), I crave and love time to myself. Veronica, on the other hand, has never met a stranger. Everyone within a ten mile radius is a potential friend.
You can imagine that filling her love tank is a bit of a daily challenge for me. I have often joked (somewhat seriously) with my husband that it would be so much more convenient if the kids’ love languages were acts of service, of which I complete dozens each day. This is also my own love language, so it is the way that is “easiest” for me to show love. But real, authentic love is rarely convenient or easy and always requires sacrifice. As the great St. John Bosco once said, “It’s not enough to love the children. It is necessary that they are aware that they are loved.” And really, amid all of the dishes, the dirty floors, and the never ending laundry, is not our most important job as mothers to make sure our children know they are loved?
I am learning so much about love from my four-year-old. She loves so freely and fully, without reserve, to anyone who crosses her path. I am truly blessed to be her mother and pray that my own heart may love as freely as hers.
 
 
photo credit: assorted color purple yellow orange and pink tulips in a glass vase with mom holding daughter in background via photopin (license)