I promise I did not even stage these. Indy brought this balloon home from a church event on Saturday evening and has been playing with it ever since (she calls it a "bah-balloon"). Every time she accidentally let it float to the ceiling she would immediately start to panic as though there was no way she would ever be able to get it back (forget about the fact that we had already retrieved it for her 10 times already), so in between playing with it she would store it in a sideways crate we happen to keep in the office, so that it would stay at her level. Genius.

Also, you might be looking at these thinking, "awww. . . how cute. She could be a model, a little girl model."

No.

I would not wish the task of taking her picture on anyone. You might see pictures of Indy on here and think she's so cooperative. She is one of the sassiest little girls I know. She actually brought me to tears once when I was trying to get her to model a handknit for me. She jumps into pictures when I don't want her in them and she runs away when I do. "Indy, look here!" is usually met with a sly smile and a back turn. "Stay back there!" and she runs full speed at the camera. Say "come closer!" and she'll disappear around the corner. Sometimes I ask Alan "did we make her this way?" (as in, so sassy). Us Millers, well, we can be a pretty spirited bunch, and a toddlers reinterpretation of all of that can be a little. . . cheeky? saucy? impertinent? all of the above? But who knows, nature/nurture is a complicated affair. She might have been just been born with a knack for scowling, but as a mother I'm always a glutton for a good guilt-trip, so if she rolls her eyes I'M THE WORST MOTHER EVER. That was a bit dramatic. I'm deep in the Fangorn Forest of Terrible Twos. The reality is that some day, like all of us, she will learn to pass things through a filter of kindess. Sassy will become spunky, plucky, and brave, and I won't want her any other way.

(This is a very common scene these days - it is Indy's favorite place in the house).

There are a lot of reasons that I think children are the natural result and an integral part of marriage, by God's design. I could wax on about why I think everyone who is able should have children early and abundantly (perhaps I will sometime soon), but for right now I will say only this: that having a child has (and is making me) a better person. It has become obvious to me that having Indy, and being a mother, is an integral part of my sanctification, my spiritual and personal growth.  Some of it is general, and similar to how I've always grown: through the facing and overcoming of challenges. When my patience is tested, I become more patient. Yes, you can have my last bite of apple pie. Yes, I will clean your pee off the floor. But the main way in which she is edging my spirit towards growth is unique to being a mother, and that is what I can only describe as the immense and holy weight of being responsible for the physical and spiritual well-being of another person. Mainly: I want to be better for her. Our children inherit many of our vices and virtues. The virtues will buoy them up, and the vices can drag them down and become an inheritance which they suffer under. If you think marriage sheds light on your weaknesses, wait until you have children! Being a mother insists that you no longer glide through life status quo; God will use your love for your children to fully illuminate your weaknesses. I want Indigo to be better than me, and therefore I have to be better than I currently am. There are so many things that are changing in me that would likely have been unbudgeable by any other motivation than that of motherhood. Being a parent is an excellent deterrent to stagnancy. 

Lately, as I've been thinking and engaging in conversation with Alan about the pursuit of raising children who are not shiftless, and can give a good handshake and look a person in the eye, I've become acutely aware of my own shyness and social downfalls. I'm not intentionally shiftless in social situations, but my own self-consciousness constantly gets the better of me, leaving me feeling misunderstood and with things unsaid. I have suffered under that burden for nearly my whole life. I don't want any of my children to know what it is like to have that tightness creep into your throat and turn your cheeks hot. I want to be intentional and bold in my relationships and conversations so that my children know no fear in that area. I probably could have gone on my whole life avoiding shaking peoples' hands during the peace at church if I didn't have little eyes watching me. 

At the end of it all, I'm left desiring more for myself and for Indigo, and knowing that only through God's work in me will I grow and change. I know I will never be perfect, and so always, always I find myself praying that the grace of God will go around me and before me to cover my weaknesses, forgive my mistakes, and fill my children.