Posted by: Amanda Taylor | April 10, 2012

My Izzy Doodle

My posts on here are generally upbeat, silly, and not really personal.  There’s something that stops me.  Maybe I don’t want people to see how vulnerable I can be or I just want to let people assume that I am happy, that I’m okay, that I’m taking their advice and loving every minute of life.

Atticus is a hoarder, he keeps all kinds of toys and other findings under my bed.  Tonight, I decided I really needed to clean.  I did the kitchen first and was just going to do some quick dusting in the living room.  I cleaned my tables and TV stand and then looked at the big mirror that is my wall in the living room.  I have looked at it a million times since being back.  I have looked at it and haven’t touched it. I didn’t clean it because I was holding on to little bitty hand prints that smudged the surface.

Hand prints that I can remember being made while she ate her sandwiches and stole my banana peppers.  She loved turning around and watching herself chew.  Hand prints that were left when she walked on the back of the couch.  Hand prints that were made when she’d come in from a long day of swimming and talk to herself in that mirror.  Little bitty, cute, Izzy hand prints.  I finally wiped them off today.

You see, I never imagined that I would one day not have those little hand prints coming back every week.  I never imagined that once I would clean them, they just wouldn’t reappear.   I never imagined that I would hear kids screaming and laughing down at the pool and it wouldn’t be her.  I never imagined that I could love a little girl so much, even though she wasn’t mine.

Cleaning up has been hard.  I find little hair bows, gummy dinosaurs, and stickers that I meant to give her.  I see pictures and memories in every corner of every room.  She loved napping on my bed.  She always seemed to sleep for hours there, unless Chance was in there.  She never liked to nap with him in the room.  I remember her doing head stands in the dining room, and us doing projects on the coffee table.  I remember the cushions that we would put together that made a perfect little Izzy bed.

I guess people warned me about the perils of dating someone that had children.  And even now they tell me to write my own history, have my own kids, that she wasn’t mine.  It’s just hard.  Since before I can remember, all I ever wanted to do was be a mom.  I wanted to take care of kids.  I wanted to love them, play with them, care for them, do whatever I could.  I did that for her.  I made sacrifices, I hugged her, I taught her to tie her shoe, caught her on camera the first time she skipped, held her when she was sick at night, watched her Pre-K Graduation, and would sometimes just sit back and watch her and her Pa Pa.    I loved her sweet giggles and her hugs before bed time.  I loved watching her grow, knowing that although she wasn’t mine I was having an impact on how she lived, what she learned, and how she grew.  Maybe it was a small impact, maybe it was a big impact, I’m not sure. I just did what I could.

It’s hard knowing that I’ve lost that. I know I have to let go. I know one day “Chocolatey” and Superman Ice Cream will make me smile instead of crying.  I know one day I’ll smile when I think about how awesome she was, but right now I cry.  I cry because I miss her.  I cry because I loved her more than I ever thought I could love a little person.  I cry because she brought so much joy, laughter, and sunshine into my life.

I don’t really know how long the hurt will last.  I don’t really know how to just “let go” and trust that tomorrow things will be okay.  i don’t know how to not be angry sometimes or not wish that I was waking up at 6:30 in the morning to put cute bows in her hair.  All I do know is I miss her.  She taught me so much about selfless love, being a kid, having fun, and dinosaurs 🙂

I know she’ll think of me when she sees the things we made in her room or maybe she’ll remember when we climbed to the top of a mountain (with only the bribe of her getting as many pieces of gum she wanted for the day).  Maybe it’s selfish that I want her to think about me.  I want her to keep doing our silly little dances and singing Party In The USA.  I don’t want her to hurt.  I don’t want her to miss me.  I want her to be happy.  I want her to grow.  I want her to be the amazing little lady that I know she will grow up to be.  I want her to believe in love.

I can’t hang on to smudgy hand prints on my mirror or little girl hair bows.  I wish I could but I know I can’t.  When is it okay to let go?  When does it get easier? I don’t want to hear, “She has a mom”.  I never tried to be her mom, but I couldn’t help but love her like she was mine.  I don’t want to hear I told you so.  I never imagined it would be this hard, hell, I never imagined that I would be typing this.  Something really special happened between me and her.  Something that I’ll never, ever regret.  So, don’t tell me I told you so.

I love that girl more than anyone will ever imagine.  I loved being her “MyAmandy” and she was my “Izzy Doodle”.  I just miss her so much but I am thankful that she came into my life, even if just for a little while.

Acting like dinosaurs.  Dinosaur kisses.

I love you Izzy Doodle.



  1. I completely know this all too well. My exs daughter I still miss to this day. She was my roller coaster buddy. Even though I wasn’t her biological father, she called me Addy. It’s really tough sometimes. Some days are harder than others for sure, but each day is easier and harder at the same time.

  2. I can tell how much you love her through your writing. It must be so hard! I’ll bet you left a big impact on her, you probably don’t have to worry about that.

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