Again

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Again, again! That’s her giddy plea as we play Ride a Little Horsie on my knees over and over.  I wonder how she can get such joy out of it the 37th time as she does the 1st time, but she does.  Even then I knew that all too soon those days would be over, and they are.  My youngest girl is 8 now and although she still fits (somewhat) in my lap and would probably enjoy a nice round of Horsie, it’s just not the same as it was when she was 2.

Repetition can go both ways, you know.  “You’re pregnant!”  Again – yay!  “I’m sorry, you’ve lost the baby.” Again – silent tears.  But just because something happens over and over doesn’t mean it always ends the same way.  Two of those pregnancies ended in the joyful births of two of my daughters.  Three of them ended in miscarriage, sadly. 

Again can be an opportunity, the chance to do things differently.  If you’re not happy with how you did something, you can do it again.  Again means there doesn’t necessarily have to be an end.

And so now on my lap is a different little girl, born not of my own body but my oldest girl’s, and I love her more than I ever thought possible. We play Ride a Little Horsie, over and over and over, this sweet child and I.  “Again,” she says, “again!”  And so we play again and again and again because as I know all too well, these days with her won’t last.  But maybe one day she will play this game again with her own children. 

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