Big Girls and Little Girls

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That is probably the most recent picture of my two girls. I sent it to our parents on Valentine’s Day. It looks like a haphazard, poorly taken candid shot, but that one picture took nearly ten minutes to take and was the best photo in a series of over 20 that I shot with my phone just to text to family. Ridiculous?
Yesh.
It was in that process, and during so many other daily things that I notice the vast differences between my two girls:  One runs, one barely rolls over. One talks, the other gasps instead of laughing. One can use a fork to eat her dinner, the other still hates a bottle instead of a breast at times.
Madeline can seem like such a big girl sometimes. What I have a hard time remembering in the day to day is that she is still a baby. Even though she has a mouth full of teeth, can ask for what she wants for breakfast, and helps me put clothes in the washing machine, my oldest daughter is still a baby. She still needs her mommy to cuddle and read a book, and she still gets scared of the dark if I forget to turn her nightlight on. She can get overtired and cranky, and she still wants a binky to suck on every once in a while (even if she has to steal it from her sister’s mouth).
What God is showing me this week is that although isn’t my baby, Madeline is still my baby. She may not be my youngest child, but she still needs me as much as ever. And even though I expect different things from her than from Clara (self-soothing, self-feeding, some personal hygiene care) her need for love, affection, and attention are still very similar to her sister’s.
So although she is my big girl, I have to be careful not to think of Madeline as a big girl.

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