Horses and Sea Lions, and Heartache and Love

(I know it's been a while since my last post -- the perils of being a mommy, I guess.)

Over the weekend, Eme saw a horse up close for the first time. A total happenstance where we happened to be near the Stow Community Gardens and a couple of guys with horses happened to be plowing the ground with an old-fashioned horse-drawn plow.

The smell, the feel, the sight of such a different animal than she was used to must have been overwhelming, but she took it in stride.

I brought her right up to the horse, and tried to get her to pet him (his name is Cody, by the way). Fear was evident in her eyes, so I showed her that "look, mommy pets him!"

She allowed me to bring her a little bit closer, but still wouldn't touch his muzzle. "He's so soft. Mommy pet's the horse's nose. Nice horse, nice Cody."

She tried to pet him with her feet, kicking out to touch his nose. I pulled her away so that she couldn't reach far enough to actually kick him. "No, no kicking the horse. Do you want to pet him?"

By this time, the guys were ready to set off with the plow for another round, so we waved the horses away. The further away they got from us, the more excited Eme became. She squealed and waved and wanted to run after the horses.

As they came back down the line, getting close again, she again became apprehensive (or was that me?). Again, they stopped, and again we walked over to pet Cody. We finally convinced her to touch him briefly on the nose, but she kept trying to wiggle out of my arms.

I recently read a book called Wit's End by Karen Joy Fowler (the author who wrote The Jane Austen Book Club). The only thing about it that is important to this story is one tiny little scene. One of the main characters remembers witnessing her uncle, who was as close to her as a father and was a fisherman, shoot a sea lion. The animal seemed friendly to her, and she is horrified that he has killed it. To him it's perfectly natural -- if he hadn't killed it, it would have eaten his catch and destroyed his net. This experience deeply affected her view of her uncle.

What does this have to do with Eme's visit to the horse? I have been thinking about how many things I take for granted that might be shocking, amazing, incomprehensible to little Eme.

What must it feel like to be so small, and confronted with an animal that is so large, and smells like a horse, and your mommy (whom you are pretty sure you trust, though we'll just see how this horse turns out before we decide for sure) is trying to get you to touch it?

How does it change your feelings about your mommy when mommy lets you pet the cat and the cat scratches you? Are you betrayed by your mommy, the cat, or both?

What must it feel like when mommy seems to disappear for a minute in the library -- you can't see her (she can still see you, but you don't know that) but she was just right there?

It's both amazing and humbling to know that everything I do, even the things that seem inconsequential, can shape the way Emelie looks at life.

What keeps me from being frightened every moment of every day that I will accidentally do something that will damage her permanently? It's the knowledge that there are few things that can permanently damage her when all of us provide her with enough love to get over life's little heartaches.

She will learn that horses don't have to be scary because mommy (or DaDa, or Grandma) holds her. She will learn that sometimes you just have to be cautious around cats. They're sharp. (In fact, she's well on her way with this lesson; if Milky Cat looks sideways at her, she pulls mommy over to have me pet Milky instead.) She will learn that mommy goes away, but always comes back.

Still humbling, though. Even with love in my pocket, on my sleeve, and exuding from my every pore, I feel humbled every day.

And blessed. More than I ever thought possible.

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