Although I have been saving a ton of blog material in this pathetic messy brain of mine, who knows if I'll ever find time/energy to expel it from my mind onto the interwebs.
So, I'll start with this one post, this one thing I've wanted to write for a long, long time - a letter to my darling daughter.
My god, I had no idea having you would be like this. Nobody could have prepared me for it. It doesn't seem to matter what people said or how they tried to warn me - the overwhelming nature of growing, birthing, and loving you has been, well, indescribable.
Sure, your life inside me was tricky for both of us, and for Hubby too, but my god I loved you. I talked to you all the time, I sang you "I Will" by The Beatles on a daily basis, I imagined what you looked like, I adored when you moved inside me, and, above all, I worried about you pretty much every minute of every day.
And then you came out, in a flurry of (holy super painful) labour and only a few quick pushes. You came out and the nurse plopped you on my chest, and all I could really think was "wow, she's bigger than I thought she was." Seven pounds eight ounces, with the cutest little face and ohmygosh so much long dark hair. And those big brown eyes looking up at me. And then Daddy cut your cord and before I knew it we were parents.
That first week was, (well, Fraggle dear, I'm always going to be honest with you) one of the hardest things we've ever done. Trying to feed you, laying crooked in a hospital bed opening my eyes every 5 minutes to look at you through that clear plastic bassinet, coming home and camping out in a not-dark-enough and anxiety-cloaked bedroom for days on end trying to figure out how the heck to keep you safe.
But then, then there was a light. Slowly, very slowly, some weird normalcy began to emerge unlike any "normal" I have ever known. A new normal where nothing else in the world matters as much as you do, and where Hubby and I truly rely on each other in a way we never had before, finding a way to exist as your parents rather than whoever those two fools had been beforehand. I woke up the other night wondering, where is the grown up that is supposed to be caring for this child?
Now, honey, you'll be four weeks old on Monday. I have no idea where this time has gone, or how I managed to survive it, but I'm starting to see what everyone was trying to tell me. It was worth it. All of it. Because you are the most lovely, sweetest little baby known to humanity and it aches my heart how much I love you. You are the most beautiful thing I've ever done. It kills me when you cry, and it warms me when your eyes gaze at mine. And this week, when I was feeding you, you held my hand...
I love everything about you. I love your jazz hands (aka newborn reflex), and your "ET phone home" (aka burping bliss), and even your giggle-cries (like Dick Van Dyke floating on the ceiling in Mary Poppins) and your monkey scream (which sometimes sounds more like a Michael Jackson "Ah hoo hoo"). I've watched your hair lighten, and watched your eyes shift from dark brown, to a deep sea blue that I can't describe, to now a grey blue that mesmerizes me, just like Hubby's.
I promise, no matter what, I will keep watching. Be patient with me, though I'm not perfect, not even close. But I will always do my best. I will be there, for everything, all the time. I will support you, no matter what, without judgement. I will hold your hand, and teach you things, and take you places, and adore you, unconditionally, forevermore.