Sometimes I wonder if I’m rubbing off on Rowenna at all. She is so much her daddy’s girl. I see it all the time – a certain gleam in her eye, her ability to problem solve, her mellow, laid-back personality. Given a choice, she’ll happily sit with her dad. She is definitely not one of those kids that will only ask mom for help.
But the other day she did something so blatantly me my heart practically jumped out of my chest and I cried. A lot.
I come from a very musical family. I constantly played music for Rowenna in the womb. (For the record: she would bounce quite a bit for Nickel Creek and the Eagles…but today the thing that gets her shakin’ is Kanye West’s “Gold Digger.” Go figure.) We play the piano every single day. Sometimes she plays with me, sometimes she just sits on the floor and listens. She has a little basket of instruments for playing along, and is also the proud owner of a ukulele.
The other day she pulled out her little piano and her baby doll. She sat down with her doll in her lap and started to play. Then she put her hand over her doll’s hand and had the doll “play” the piano. She would occasionally stop to smile and hug or kiss her baby.
And in those few moments, those beautiful moments, I saw my love for her reflected in her. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve gently taken her hand to plunk out “Twinkle Twinkle” on the piano while she snuggled close to me on the piano bench. We sing together and I give her a kiss, happy to have that time with her. A quiet moment when she isn’t taking laps around the living room or devising ever more clever ways to bypass the kitchen gate.
Maybe I’m rubbing off on my sweet girl after all.