This morning, I’d had just about enough of Dora the Explorer and Go, Diego, Go!, so I decided to thumb through the massive book of DVD’s hiding in our TV armoire to find something kid appropriate. Rifling through the pages, I happened across the video I made for the girls’ first birthday. We used to watch that thing over and over for months after their birthday, but hadn’t seen it in at least a year. So, I popped it in the DVD player for the three of us to enjoy and reflect on.
It all started well; the girls jumped and danced to “Little Bitty Pretty One” when the music started on the menu screen. The video began to play and I returned my attention to my half-eaten lunch. Then, out of nowhere, Cadie was moping across the room, fresh tears pooled in her eyes and her bottom lip quivering. I could tell she wasn’t upset about a toy, her sister pushing her, or something else of that nature. She was genuinely distraught. I pulled her up into my lap and asker her what was wrong. Immediately, the tears began to flow. The video was clearly upsetting her. My first instinct was to cut the TV off, but I decided against it. The pictures that flashed across the screen were her past, something she should be proud of. What she went through in those first months of life helped shape her into who she is today, a wonderful little girl with a beautiful heart and tender spirit. Then, I was confused. How many times had we watched this very same video with a very different reaction? Usually, the girls squeal with delight each time their faces appear on the screen. They’re even able to pick out who is who. I didn’t understand, but it was important to me that we continued to watch and talk about what they were seeing. We shared a good cry, then I began offering commentary every time a new picture appeared. “Oh, look at that picture of Cadie! Isn’t she so pretty?” “Yes, Maddie, you have a tube in your mouth. That tube helped you breathe because you were very sick and couldn’t do it by yourself.” “See? You’re getting bigger Cadie. That’s right before you ate from a bottle for the first time.” Eventually, the tears slowed, only picking up here and there, until her mild hysteria ceased, then slowly transformed to a smile. As we watched our way through those first few difficult weeks, it was like watching her healing and growing all over again right before my eyes. I knew all was well again when I felt her began to dance on my lap with the introduction of an upbeat song. The worst was over.
I really can’t say what prompted today’s heartache. I hope and pray that video didn’t stir up any bad memories; I hope they don’t remember anything from that time in their lives. It’s possible that Cadie’s very tender heart was just upset by how visibly sick and fragile they both were after they were born. I don’t want her to be afraid of those images, though. I want her to be proud.
It all started well; the girls jumped and danced to “Little Bitty Pretty One” when the music started on the menu screen. The video began to play and I returned my attention to my half-eaten lunch. Then, out of nowhere, Cadie was moping across the room, fresh tears pooled in her eyes and her bottom lip quivering. I could tell she wasn’t upset about a toy, her sister pushing her, or something else of that nature. She was genuinely distraught. I pulled her up into my lap and asker her what was wrong. Immediately, the tears began to flow. The video was clearly upsetting her. My first instinct was to cut the TV off, but I decided against it. The pictures that flashed across the screen were her past, something she should be proud of. What she went through in those first months of life helped shape her into who she is today, a wonderful little girl with a beautiful heart and tender spirit. Then, I was confused. How many times had we watched this very same video with a very different reaction? Usually, the girls squeal with delight each time their faces appear on the screen. They’re even able to pick out who is who. I didn’t understand, but it was important to me that we continued to watch and talk about what they were seeing. We shared a good cry, then I began offering commentary every time a new picture appeared. “Oh, look at that picture of Cadie! Isn’t she so pretty?” “Yes, Maddie, you have a tube in your mouth. That tube helped you breathe because you were very sick and couldn’t do it by yourself.” “See? You’re getting bigger Cadie. That’s right before you ate from a bottle for the first time.” Eventually, the tears slowed, only picking up here and there, until her mild hysteria ceased, then slowly transformed to a smile. As we watched our way through those first few difficult weeks, it was like watching her healing and growing all over again right before my eyes. I knew all was well again when I felt her began to dance on my lap with the introduction of an upbeat song. The worst was over.
I really can’t say what prompted today’s heartache. I hope and pray that video didn’t stir up any bad memories; I hope they don’t remember anything from that time in their lives. It’s possible that Cadie’s very tender heart was just upset by how visibly sick and fragile they both were after they were born. I don’t want her to be afraid of those images, though. I want her to be proud.
Cadence - 4/4/06
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