Watch me, momma...

Watch me.

How many times have I heard those words?

Watch me jump.
Watch me dance.
Watch me draw.
Watch me race.
Watch me walk.
Watch me ride.
Watch me cook.
Watch me ::insert bodily function of choice here::

Watch me.

Sometimes it's tiring. Sometimes I don't want to watch or listen or play. I just want to sit in the quiet of the house or room and do nothing at all.

But I watch.
I cheer.
I play along.
I guess.
I pretend to eat a five course meal of strawberries, tacos, hot dogs, hot fudge and milk.
I watch.

Sometimes I want to close my eyes because their bravery takes my breath away. I falter between watching and looking away. Trying to convince myself not to say "be careful" and instead allow them to have courage and test their own abilities.

I watch.

And in me watching them they see that I am there. Interested. Engaged and willing to spend my time cheering them on to whatever feat they try next. Even when I'm tired or busy or just not in the mood. For me the watching can be repetitive, but for them, the adventure is always new.

I'm so thankful to have front row seats of their adventure. To be the cheering section and coach. The medic and the instigator. The mom and the audience.

Because one day all too soon, the tables will turn. They won't need me to watch. They won't want me to watch. When that day comes, I'll have these days to look back on and remember.

Watch me, momma.

Watch me.