The joy of Chava

I spent last night at the home of two of my best friends, who just happen to be the parents of my goddaughter "Chava". Back before Chava was born, I used to tease them, half-seriously, about how once they had "my baby", s/he would become more important to me than they. I was wrong, though; I discovered that the heart has an unbelievably vast capacity for love. I love them as much as I ever did, but at the same time, found a new love that has me reeling, almost two and a half years after she was born.

Chava, almost 2.5 years old, is my delight, my joy, my frustration, and my light. I never thought I could love a child this much; at least, not a child that did not come from my own body. I spoke to her before she was born; I had the honor of watching as she passed from her mother's body into the world; I rocked her through colic, colds, earaches and teething; I saw her first smiles; I stood before God and man, and vowed to watch, love, and teach her as her godmother; I watched her crawl for the first time; I watched her first steps. Although she is not the child of my body, she is the child of my heart. I am so attached to this child that I almost feel guilty for wanting to have a child, because how could I think of possibly usurping her position by giving birth to "my second" child?

When I see her, even if it's just a photograph of her, I just smile and think, "That face. I love that face." I know this sounds unforgivably hokey, but I don't understand how anyone can look into the face of a child, and not believe that there is a God; and I can't honestly think of how to explain that, at least not well. Children are such miraculous packages of joy that I can't help feeling a connection to the Divine when I'm in their presence.

When Chava screams because we've taken away her "lipsick" (lipstick, which is really lip balm), which she applies constantly for hours on end, I love her. When she throws herself at me, hugs my neck so hard she almost strangles me, nuzzles her nose to mine and claims me by saying, "My Kimmy!", I love her. When she frowns at me because I've committed the unforgivable faux pas of walking in front of the TV if she's watching Rella (Cinderella, also once known as "Dress" for the blue ball gown) or Caillou (a cartoon of a little Canadian boy, whose totally bald head makes me & Chava's parents joke about him going through chemo), I love her.

She goes to a bilingual daycare, and has since she was a newborn. Her first words were a mixture of English and Spanish, and she still occasionally uses Spanish at home. I think I've learned more Spanish from this child than I ever knew; if nothing else, out of a sense of desperation to figure out what she wants. Zapatos? Mas? Vamos? Aqui? What is she saying?!? Heck, I took German and Russian for my foreign languages! We're all learning baby-Spanish with her just to understand this child!

What can I say? I've watched this child grow from her first u/s picture (that made her look like a ghoul because her bones showed so clearly), to the strong-willed and enchanting little girl she is today. Everyday that I am with her, I am thankful that I am getting the opportunity to be a part of a child's life, and that that child is so wonderful. I just have to get her some more lipsick, because her dad keeps hiding it.