Christmas memories

Amy made a Christmas ornament at preschool last week.

On the front of the ornament is her hand print, made with sparkling glitter paint. It's accompanied by a poem about how we should treasure her hand print now, because someday she will be grown. On the back of the ornament is a picture of Amy, taken by her teacher.

She proudly hung the ornament on the tree.

Yesterday afternoon, I was sitting on the couch in the family room with Brian, while the girls watched a Christmas movie in the living room. Amy's ornament was hanging in front of me, with her smiling face looking directly at me. I found myself thinking about the ornament.

Someday, maybe 20 years from now, I will take this ornament out of a box as we decorate a Christmas tree. I'll stop and look at the picture of my four-year-old Amy, and I'll remember.

I'll remember what it felt like to pick up my four-year-old girl and cuddle her close. I'll remember what it felt like to brush her long blond curls, and put them into braids or ponytails. I'll remember what it felt like to kiss her chubby four-year-old cheeks, or tickle her and hear her four-year-old laugh.

And I imagine that a part of me will ache for the four-year-old girl that I once knew. I wonder if I will feel pangs of sadness because I will never again be able to pick up my little girl and cuddle her. I'm sure she'll be a wonderful adult by then, but still...

So after I put Brian down in his swing, I went into the living room where Amy was sitting. I picked her up and held her close. I played with her blond curls. I tickled her and enjoyed her giggles.

Because right now, she's still my little four-year-old daughter. And I'm going to enjoy these moments as much as I can.