I wouldn’t do that to her. But, I have called her “Silly Goose,” just like my mama called me. For one thing, she laughs when it’s totally inappropriate. And it’s not just this little giggle, but this loud guffaw and she’s so unashamed to release all her joy, right out of the bottom of her belly.
And she’s got this wild streak. Like, when I tell her for the umpteenth time not to crawl on the back of the couch and she does it anyway and then turns to see if I’m looking and there’s that gleam in her eye. Then, off she runs, covering her tail and screaming like a school-kid being chased on the playground. I don’t know how to get her to see that I really do MEAN it! She’s only two and already she doesn’t take her mama too seriously. I think I’ve got my hands full.
But, the good thing is, I so get her. I do. We’ve both got that twisted sense of humor and a bit of a stubborn will and some days I don’t know if I should be proud or deeply concerned. I’m just thankful I can relate to her. Like the way she’s scared but she’s brave. She’ll climb up anything and not think a thing about falling down great heights. But, as soon as she hears a motorcycle or a rumbling truck, here she comes, look of sheer terror on her face and she tumbles right into my arms.
I’m glad God gave me her. Because when I see that goofy grin and those eyes all full of mischief, I see my little self again. And I don’t know why that’s so amazing to me, except that maybe being adopted, and not knowing who I look like, it’s neat to see a little girl looking a lot like me. I mean, she’s got my wispy hair and that same long forehead.
And since I don’t know where I was exactly when I was her age, I watch her and wonder if I did any of those same things. Like, did I scream that loud and did I run so hilariously through the yard, arms pumping, short legs bookin’ it for the swing-set?
And even my mama now, she tells me how God surprising us with Hopey is this gift–this glimpse into what she never got to see. A little bit of little me.
