It was almost two years ago, exactly from right this moment, that I brought a 6lb 10oz baby into this world. In that moment, all the misgivings and fears and hesitation I'd sprouted when finding myself unexpectedly on the other side of a two-lined pregnancy test disappeared. I was a mommy.
It's been two years since that first glimpse of Elodie, so tiny, so precious, so helpless. As much as I don't remember of the 13-hour labor, I sure don't forget that first moment I saw her, or held her, or heard her. My, how she's changed.
When I snuck into her room a few moments ago and scooped her into my arms, she's heavy. Her teeth show through an open mouth, and her arms quickly and easily find my neck and wrap around it. Her feet are bigger now.
She can climb onto the couch, run, tell us exactly what she likes or, more often, does not like. She tells us, I love you, something that we've known since she was born, but she's just finding the voice to say it. She's growing and morphing before our eyes into a girl, no longer a baby.
She is my baby. She will always be that way. In my mind, I will always see her roving eyes and gummy smile of the infant hidden just below the features of a child, a teenager, an adult. I have deperately tried to be a good parent so far, and I hope I'm doing well. She deserves no mistakes, a firm hand, a warm hug, and I hope I can provide that. I don't want to see her scrape her knee, but I'm sure it will happen. I don't want to send her off to school, but she will go with anticipation.
I will miss the little, warm, spindly arms finding my neck while she sleeps. I look forward to watching her grow.
Happy Birthday, Elodie. Mommy loves you.