Mine or Hers?

Today, I was on the floor wrestling with Amelia. I had assumed the role of the ticklemonster and she was in the midst of the kind of laughter that only kids can produce. At some point during this a realization washed over me. Now, what took me nearly 16 months to realize is quite possibly painfully obvious to all of you. But, I actually feel that I not only hadn't previously realized this, but I have actually been approaching it from the entirely opposite direction.

What dawned on me as she climbed me like a jungle gym leaving no square inch safe from her trail of drool? It was that I have no Earthly idea if my dad ever played with me like that. I have mentioned on here before that my father passed away when I was 6. Naturally, I have memories of my dad. Graciously, I can even say that every memory I have of my dad is a good one. They may not have all been his finest moments, but they are the only moments I was fortunate enough to get. For that, they will each sit in the highest praise from me as long as my brain can grasp onto them. Who knows, as days pass and they begin to slide, maybe the blurred line between reality and imagination will replace them with even better versions of themselves. However, none of those memories are until age 3 or so. It is commonly held that our earliest memories larger than any snippets or flashes come from roughly this age range. This is where today's thought was put into perspective for me. I have spent all of Amelia's life thus far focusing on experiences from her perspective. What will she enjoy? What will make her life great? What would she want from her dad? Yet, all this time, I should have focused on the experiences from my point of view. She's not going to remember this time while it will go down as one of the greatest periods of my life. There is clearly something to be said for all she learns now, all she grows from, and all that stems from her current experience. She needs the safest, happiest, most nurturing environment possible and I would never deviate from that. But, when I chase her down the aisles of a shoe store, laughing as if we are the only people around, that's not for her...it's for me. When I play the opening theme to Sesame Street, the precious takeaway is not her enjoying the music enough to dance...it is me enjoying her dancing. It isn't about the smile blowing bubbles brings to her face...it's about the smile her smile brings to my face. Soon enough, Amelia will begin gathering memories of her own. And, our emphasis will switch to making shared memories as a family. However, for now, I am going take this time for what I now realize it is - a fleeting moment for me to appreciate Amelia's experiences far more than she does.