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She’s Still My Christmas Morning

I remember the first week that we got to take Sadie home from the hospital. We had one of those big cardboard Baby Boxes from the maternity clinic and we had placed it on top of our dresser at the foot of our bed.

I worried and fussed that she would fall off the dresser in her box, and obsessively pushed it further and further back against the wall until there was No way in Hell our 3-day-old baby would be able to roll off the dresser. (New mom thoughts- the child did not move from its back-sleeping position more than one inch in any direction until at least 3 months. Anyhow- safety first.)

I had set the Baby Box up there as a pregnant lady, having no idea what was coming next. Just that a baby was coming into our house soon, we needed somewhere for it to sleep, and I wanted to be close to it when it was sleeping.

I remember putting Sadie, all swaddled up to sleep, into that box for the first time and thinking ‘Oh my God. We made a Person. We have a Person that lives in our room and sleeps in a box at the foot of our bed. This is Wild!’

I remember trying to sleep and straining my ears to hear her little noises coming from the box. At some point, I finally fell asleep.

I remember waking up at first light and feeling like it was Christmas morning. As soon as my eyelids unsealed, I remembered that there was a tiny person, sleeping in a box at the foot of my bed and I couldn’t Wait to see her!

I popped out of bed like a piece of toast and ran over to check on her. Her perfect little face, her exquisite nose. I remember my heart feeling like it was going to pop from the excitement and joy of having her in my home, and getting to wake up to her perfect little face every day.

I remember feeling bowled over by the intensity of the emotion and thinking ‘Holy Shit. These feelings are so powerful! Moms Certainly can’t feel like this for Ever! There’s got to be a point where every morning doesn’t feel like Christmas Morning anymore.’

And here we are, 13 days from Sadie’s first birthday, and she’s still my Christmas Morning. She sleeps in like her Mama, so I get the honor of waking her up every day. Every morning as I walk down the hall to her room, I’m already filling my lungs with enough air to squeal out my customary morning greeting. I swing open the door, lean into her crib and squeal ‘Baaaaabbbbbbbyyyyyyyyyy!’

And that little poppet always shoots her sleeping little head right up and gives me a Giant, rosy-cheeked, sweaty-haired ear to ear grin.

Yes, the intensity of the feelings isn’t what it was in those first few weeks of being her Mama (and thank the Lord for that!), but it’s still here, every day, that feeling of gratitude that we got to make a person, bring it into our home, and have it live with us.

My little person is almost a year old now. I have photos and videos that can show me how, but I still can’t fathom how the time passed. But I remember, like it was yesterday, bringing that little present home and wondering how long I would get to feel so much joy.

So far- there doesn’t seem to be a limit. 🙂

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Waves

Some days, when I’m sitting in our rocking chair in the nursery feeding my daughter, I think of nothing.

I hold the bottle to her mouth and I think of what to make for dinner, or what groceries we need, or when I might be able to wash my hair next.

But some days, like today, when I’m holding her sweet little body in my arms, I look down at her and it’s like my heart just crawled up on a surfboard and caught the best wave of its life.

Today as I was feeding her, I was thinking of nothing in particular.

I looked down to see if she was still feeding or nearly ready for me to pop her soother in, and when I looked down, I saw one tiny golden hair sticking straight up from the rest, waving like a piece of seagrass in the current. That one, tiny golden hair was rocking in time to the rhythm of our rocking chair, and my heart just broke into a million pieces.

I looked at her crazy little patch of hair, sticking up in all directions, and realized that tomorrow, it will look different. It will wake up in a different crazy pattern. It will be a few micro-millimetres longer.

Her front teeth that have just come in will be a little further out from her gums than they were today. Her pudgy, stout little fingers clasped so tightly around her bottle that they’re white around the edges will be a little longer, a little thinner.

One day in the not so distant future, I won’t be in this chair with my daughter at this time of day anymore because I’ll be back at work and she’ll be in dayhome.

One day, I won’t even remember what she was like at this age.

I’ll need videos and photos to remind me that she was ever this small, and this perfect.

When I saw that tiny little golden hair swaying in the sunlight today, I realized that every single moment I have with her is a gift.

Every day that she wakes up, she’s a new child. A little older, a little different from the day before.