Not wanting to wake our soundly sleeping goon when we got back to my parents' house last night after many hours of traveling, I had to wait until I heard her stirring this morning before I could go in and see her face and let her see me and let her know that, yes, we really did come back. My folks had reminded me of how I behaved when they came to retrieve me from my week away from them, when they let me stay with my grandmother in North Carolina. They imagined me rushing into their open arms, but instead they found their girl, wounded and mistrustful, inching around the perimeter and retreating to the farthest point of my aunt's lawn. I punished them (and my grandmother) for the next ten years. This seemed unlikely to come from our loving child, but I was told that I'd been very sweet, myself, until that week away from them. I didn't want to delude myself into thinking that flowers would float down from the sky as Olive and I embraced and danced to rejoice our reunion, so I steeled myself for the worst.
When I first heard her chattering happily in her crib down the hall, I hurriedly went to grab her. I opened the door and she saw me; a look of confusion quickly passed over her face then a bewildered grin. She clambered up and held out her arms to me. The tightest, longest hugs I've ever been given by someone so small filled a large part of my day. She wanted precious little to do with my mother, though, and she nervously waved her off each time she got too near. That will pass, I'm sure; she's far too sweet to hold grudges for long. That valuable trait, needless to say, is one she inherited from her father.
Oh, how sweet it is to be back together again, our family just as it should be.
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