Lessons My Daughter Has Taught Me

Danika turned 9 months old last week and she continues to amaze me with the way that she thinks. Sometimes I think she is wise beyond her months. I marvel in her innocence and always feel a little bit guilty about the fact that I’m 90% sure she has taught me more in 9 months than I feel I could possibly teach her in a lifetime (this I’m sure is a feeling that most first time parents can relate to).

This week Danika taught me the importance of contentment.

I have often contemplated if true contentment is ever really possible. In a world where we are always searching for something more, we are very rarely content with the place we are at, the money we are making, the people that surround us. We want more, more, more. And we have tricked ourselves into thinking that we actually need it to be happy. We can’t ever truly be content if we are always wondering, “What’s next?”
I watch Danika sit on the dirty wood floor in her diaper rolling a tiny piece of paper around and around in her fingers and realize that she has no concept of worth (in dollars anyways). Out of all of the toys that are sitting in front of her, she chooses a piece of paper. Her other favorite toy: a bottle of travel lotion that she will turn around moving from one hand to the next for as long as I let her. She sits on the floor amist dust, dirt, and various bugs, and looks up at me to show me her piece of paper as if she were sitting in a Royal Court with the Queen. She is completely and totally content.

She has taught me the main difference between children and adults is this: Children live in a world of pure contemplation. For them sights, sounds, and objects exist to be played with and enjoyed. For adults, sights, sounds, and objects exist solely to be used. We are dominated by responsibilities and therefore have lost the sense of contentment that we had when we were children.

Danika just recently learned how to clap. Now she claps for everything that she does, and everything that anyone else does. If you accomplish something, she will clap for you, and if she accomplishes something, she will clap for herself. How brilliant is that concept? She has figured out the balance of being happy for other people, while still being happy for yourself.

I am so proud of how well she has adjusted and adapted to her surroundings, and the loss of luxuries that she enjoyed so much just a short time ago. Yet she has never once felt sorry for herself here, she doesn’t even know how to. She is grateful for anything and everything you give her, even a little piece of paper. Her tubbies that used to be filled with warm water, bubbles, and bath toys, are now sometimes cold water out of a bucket in the back when the electricity goes out and I can’t heat up water on the stove. But she doesn’t mourn the loss of her “American” tubbies, she simply chooses to see it as a different opportunity for her to explore.

She catches her breath as I pour the cold water down her back and then squeals in excitement as she sees a family of chicks waddle past us.

I have searched my whole life for contentment, when all I have to do is spend one day looking at life through my daughter’s eyes.