Thunder, Bugs And All

“What WAS that?” My daughters eyes were wide as saucers and fixed on the sky.

 

“That was thunder, sweetheart. Just noise the sky sometimes makes when it rains. Nothing that can hurt you.” She didn’t seem entirely convinced. It had been drizzling all day but didn’t really start to pour down until moments before I turned the car into our driveway. We had been sitting, waiting hopefully, that the rain would let up long enough for us to run inside when the thunder rolled in. I decided to brave the rain and ran around the car to let her out. As I did another bolt of lightning lit the sky. “It is going to thunder, again,” I warned her.

A deep rolling rumble passed above where we stood. “Rumble, rumble,” she repeated. ‘I decided I like the thunder.” She quickly splashed in the puddle that forms at the bottom of the steps that lead to our house and ran inside to tell her daddy about the thunder.

How many storms had she heard in her 32 months? Could she hear the thunder while she was growing in my belly? So many claps had entered her ears but tonight was the first time she really heard it. The first time in her memory that the sky rumbled and shook a little. How many more experiences will she have that she doesn’t remember from previous years?

Spring is an exciting time here in New England. Winter finally lets us out of it’s icy grasp. The snow wanes and grass, flowers, and mud takes it’s place. The sun takes on a warmer feel and the breeze becomes inviting instead of frigid. In my excitement for this rebirth of the land I overlooked the transformation happening in my own daughter. She is leaving her baby and toddler years behind.

Tiny buds decorate the maple tree in our yard. It dropped it’s fire red leaves last fall and slept through the coldest months preparing for this. The same tree I climbed as a child, yet, every year, a little different. As my daughter runs in it’s shade I can see her shedding the old and growing anew. Sticks are no longer just objects to hold in her pudgy hands and maybe sneak into her mouth, they are magic wands. Able to transform her into a different time and place. They are snakes, her friends, having a picnic. They are spoons, helping her stir soup that is simmering on her play stove.

The world around us is slowly making it’s yearly transformation and my daughter is watching with awe. A tiny bug crawls across the front walkway and becomes a playmate and the subject of a hundred (or more) questions. They seem to bubble out of her uncontrollably until she is confident that she understands this new little creature. She learns that it is tiny and fragile. That she has the ability to squish it or to step back and observe. She chooses the latter and watches for a while until something else, something new, catches her eye.

I remember the transformation from infant to toddler. That one was expected, anticipated. One day she was crawling the next, walking. Within weeks I was using the term toddler easily. I mourned the passing of time but was too excited by all of her new found skills and explorations to dwell. We settled into toddlerhood well. It was a good place to be. A perfect equilibrium of baby and child. She would happily play on her own but still needed those reassuring snuggles throughout her day.

I knew that she would eventually transform again. I could see it happening. Her one word statements slowly became full sentences. She started to recall names of friends and places. She started to play for longer stretches without needing to check in and have a snuggle. She started to ask about the things she didn’t know.

Like winter into spring, I can’t pinpoint the exact moment that my daughter transitioned out of her toddler years. I do know that they are now behind us. She is a kid, a pre-school age child. She has emerged through the darkness brighter than I have ever seen her. She beams with pride with every new thing she learns and sees.

“ABCDEFG.....” It is bedtime and she is singing The Alphabet Song to the hubs and I. She gets every letter correct. We clap and exchange smiles. I can see in his eyes the pride I am feeling. Our baby is a baby no longer. She is a smart, beautiful, exuberant little girl and I feel absolutely blessed to be able to help her as she explores this great big world.

Thunder, bugs and all.