For a month now, Scarlett’s been parroting everything anyone says to her. Slowly and steadily learning through example.
But last night, standing in her room with that precious head, heavy on my shoulder and a dozy little song in her ear, readying the both of us for bed, she pointed to a freckle on my chest and maundered dreamily, “freck-le!” all by herself.
My kids have the single most adorably placed freckles of any other people on the planet, I’m convinced of it. Those lonesome, rouge polka dots on their skin have been the subject of many a changing-table or bath time conversation and they have been giggled over and gobbled up more times than anyone could count. Matthew’s is right on the tip of his scrawny little hip bone and Scarlett’s is on her thigh. They have no others. Just those, so they stand out like an accidental sprinkle on a plain cupcake. A lost polka dot. And I love them so much that it almost hurts to put them away… and that’s what I tell them teasingly whenever I’m helping to hike up their jeans.
So the fact that “freckle” would be one of her first spontaneous words spoken makes total sense, even if we weren’t talking about them at all before then. The fact that she kissed it, though? The fact that she held my face in the cusp of her hands and kissed me goodnight, then leaned down and kissed the freckle on my chest? Well that’s just unparalleled cuteness at it’s peek, right there, OBVIOUSLY. But it’s more than that, too. That is all-encompassing love being learned through example. That, in all of it’s perfect simplicity is what this whole big picture boils down to at the end of the day.
“I love every little piece of you,” I tell her, tucking her in. It’s the same thing I’ve said to her and her brother everyday since the morning they were brought into the world. And I leave the room, knowing without another word spoken that she knows no better than to love the same way back.