You may not know this, but I am a magical being. I wasn't always this gifted, it happened seven years ago this month. As time has gone on, I have become more and more magical, but unfortunately this magic has peaked. In the years to come I will lose most of my powers - most, but not all.
First, there is the basic magic. These are things like sensing an ear infection three days before the fever and knowing if Natalia falls asleep in the car, she won't take a nap at home. This is what I call mommy clairvoyance. This is also how one knows her child is telling a fib. There is that subtle change in facial expression and eye movement that you cannot describe, but your gut tells you she really did use her safety scissors from the craft cubby to cut some of her own hair. This magic is steadfast and God given. It's a keeper.
The other kind of magic is child dependant. Yep, she gives it to me and will take it away, much to my disappointment. This magic is short lived, but oh so powerful. You may not be aware of this, but I am a healer. Not just because I am a nurse, but because I have magic kisses. These are more powerful than ibuprofen and do not even need direct contact with the boo-boo. I can kiss a left hand to help heal the paper cut on the right hand. A kiss to the forehead will help alleviate the pain of a skinned knee. This magic kiss can be combined with a Hello Kitty bandaid and watch out! There is some powerful healing taking place.
Now, I am no American Idol, but my songs will chase away nightmares, smooth over a tough day at school, and lull a restless mind into a peaceful slumber. This magical gift has been put into action even before Natalia's first cry. I am not kidding when I tell you I sing all the time. Seriously. So when I was pregnant with Natalia she was witness to a lot of Christina Aguilera, Beach Boys, and Garbage. When she was six months old and caught a bad case of RSV, I would sing "The Ant Song", which I learned in elementary school, so she wouldn't freak out during the nebulizer treatments. Babies are convinced they are being suffocated when a mask is placed over their face, so she protested quite loudly at first. This song in particular seemed to be the most magical of all for her. She also hated being in her car seat and would cry and cry. Atlanta traffic is horrendous, so you could imagine how peaceful it was to be stuck for at least an hour in gridlock with a screaming baby. "The Ant Song" was the lesser of two evils and worked every time. Even today my very independent and opinionated seven year old gets a song before bed to help her get to sleep. Her world stops spinning if we break that routine.
To Natalia I am an all knowing, all healing magical mommy. She was telling me tonight that my hugs make everything okay. She has a hard time, she says, when she is away from me and something magical-hug-worthy happens and I'm not around. It's a good thing those hugs are retroactive and can fix it when she gets off the school bus or back from Grandma's. If only it would stay this easy.
As she gets older that magic will fade. She will realize that I am human just like her, full of faults and that problems are more complicated than skinned knees and her not getting to be Princess Leia at recess. I know the hugging thing will still carry some "oomph" when it comes to a broken heart or a frustrating day. My mommy clairvoyance tells me that magic will remain intact regardless of her age or my senility.
In the mean time I am going to milk it for all it's worth, because I believe in that magic too. My magic kisses that help heal her wounds help soothe my anxious heart and let me know that I am needed. The hugs that cure her heartaches and ease her fretful mind do the same for mine when I am holding her. I can't begin to count how many times I have held and hugged her when my heart was aching because of a disagreement with Jeremy or a sad day at work. She usually doesn't remember me picking her up in the middle of the night to sit in the mommy chair, but that magic is indeed powerful and helps me go back to sleep. Yes, it totally is a cure for a bad nightmare. I'll tell you what - top that off with a Hello Kitty bandaid and you're set. Abracadabra, shazaam.
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