Tuesday, September 18, 2012
Megan loves her Daddy.
I mean, REALLY LOVES (on the order of obsession, she-should-probably-go-to-AA-meetings-to-recover-addicted-to) her Daddy. We already visited the fact that she knows her own mind, is determined and stubborn, and quite the ruler of this family.
On Saturday, Paul and I left our children in the care of a very dear and stalwart friend, and drove to the city. This very good friend also has her own two children and we have been trading babysitting back and forth.
Trying to find the church function, we got lost about three times. Once we finally arrived, we saw the food was basically beef and cheese lasagna and chicken lasagna (am I completely out of date? I have NEVER heard of chicken lasagna. Although it did slightly resemble a chicken version of Cauliflower Bechamel. Very interesting!). Oh, I forgot to mention the iceberg lettuce with ranch dressing. Needless to say we left, got dinner at Taj Palace, and then went back to enjoy the other activities.
Upon returning home, my friend was completely distraught.
While playing games with the (five!) children, Megan had quietly slipped out of the room and disappeared without her notice.
Meanwhile our next door neighbor, Tracy, who claims that she is not by any means a religious person, gets the impression that she needed to get up and wash her dishes. I don't want to wash dishes. Again. Wash your dishes.
We share a main road, which is twisty and curvy, and it is the only access road to all of the homes up above our neighborhood. Vehicles fly around the curves at obnoxious speed, with little thought. Tracy's kitchen window just so happens to look out over our main road. As she looked up from her dishes, a little figure ran past. A little girl.
"Megan!" She ran from her kitchen and darted down the road as fast as she could. As Tracy picked her up Megan simply said, "Daddy?"
Peering down the road, Tracy observed that Megan was only a few hundred yards away from the main highway, where hundreds of cars pass at over 60 miles per hour.
She was headed to Albuquerque to look for her Daddy.
Later Tracy told Paul, "It was an act of God. I did not want to wash my dishes, but felt strongly that I should. God is watching out for your baby."
Even though my heart pounds every time I think of Megan on the road, and I think, What if? What if Tracy had just decided to NOT wash her dishes? What if a car had passed around that corner? Would they have stopped quickly enough?
Even though I had no control over the situation, and I could not have saved Megan. I have learned something. I have learned to treasure Megan more. Yes, with all the fits. The screaming, the tantrums, the endless demands. I have enjoyed just holding her. Feeling her soft little baby cheek against mine. Touching her plump little "Precious Moments" fingers.
Because she is mine. God has given her to me a second time.