Help.

Griff had to work tonight. He is usually the one who handles any and all “nighttime routines.” To include bathing and rocking.  It’s his and Blake’s time together, and they both love it. But, like I said, he had to work tonight.

So we get the bottle and bath done. It’s not the same as with Dad, but we made it work. We move on to the rocking. I love to rock Blake, and we do it quite a bit.  But I don’t do the bedtime rocking.

We’re listening to a cd, lights out, just rocking away when I decide that we should probably start getting in the habit of saying some kind of nighttime prayers.

(At this point I feel a bit obligated to say that I’m not great at praying. Yes, I pray but it generally seems so one-sided to me at times. Dear Jesus, please help me with a, b, c, d, and on and on and on. Forgive me this and that. There are so many other people who need things so way worse than me. Help them. Please. The starving babies and homeless people need a bed and a good meal way more than I need patience. Counting to 10 (or 100) usually does the trick. Anyway, generally I feel like I’m whining. )

But when it comes to Blake boy oh boy can I pray.  A lot. So we (me) start. It goes a little something like this: Dear Jesus, Please protect Blake. Help her to know she is loved, and that because she is loved she must show love to others. Make her compassionate and kind. Help her be sensitive to the needs of others. STOP.  WHOA. TIME OUT.

Sensitive people are prone to getting their feelings hurt. How can you truly be compassionate if you haven’t known what it means to need it? Loving other people is risky.  Don’t get me wrong, we want Blake to be kind and compassionate. We want to her love, especially the unlovable. But these things don’t come easy. So I, naturally, begin to panic. Meanwhile she is sleeping peacefully in my arms. In the bed she goes while I begin to have a serious talk with God. Don’t you know He just loved that.

It went a little something like this: God we really want Blake to be a good, kind, compassionate person. We want her to love the people no one else does. Really. We promise. We want her to commit herself to you when she’s ready. But You, God, can be a bit risky at times. And risk is great, but, you know, Blake is my daughter. So, if we could figure out a way to accomplish this without getting too risky that would be really fantastic.

Excellent. Thanks. Amen.

It took about 5 seconds for me to realize how ridiculous that was. It took another 5 to slump on the couch. The reality of this parenting situation is that it’s basically terrifying. I am terrified.

I would love to think that I can protect her all the time from any and every bad thing that might come across her path.  But that’s unrealistic. And what kind of a person would she be anyway? So I asked, and will continue to ask, for the only thing running through my head at that moment: help. Help to know when to let her fall and when to step in. Help to know what to say she hurts. Help. For every single thing. Help.