Abigail is a spunky little girl (I refuse to use past tense--she IS a spunky girl). She always knows what she wants. A friend visited this week that used to watch Abigail while I taught at co-op. She knew my baby girl's passionate side well. She told me about one day at co-op. The big kids were headed outside playing and the little ones were staying in. Abigail definitely qualified as a little one--both in age and stature. However, when the big kids were headed out, she thought she should go too. She, in fact, was so positive she should go that she proceeded to through a full-fledged fit to emphasize her point to the sweet ladies watching the kids that day. The other ladies were quick to tell my friend that "Abigail is different. Yes, she is a little one, but we let her out with the big kids." (they must have already learned the consequences) She thought she was one of them afterall. She was independent and fully capable of handling herself on the playground--at least, so she thought. My friend also told me about my sweet little momma Anna Faith who would follow Abigail around--at just the right distance to not upset her--to make sure she didn't hurt herself. The two of them are polar opposites, but make the best team. Such a treasure--such a vivid memory--such a perfect picture of my little bit's passion.
Abigail, I miss your fits. I miss the way you would lay yourself on the ground kicking and screaming until you thought we weren't watching you, and the way you would reposition yourself to where you knew you were seen. I miss our daily battle of wills (which you usually won). I miss your zest for life--singing twinkle twinkle or shake your booty as loud as you can in the car, impromptu performances on the fireplace, waving bye to me at the door as you thought you were headed out on your own...I don't have a fraction of the fire you have my baby girl, but I am trying. I am trying because I know you would keep me moving if you were here.