happy birthday, sweet girl

My dear, sweet Elly,

So much of my life is blur in my memory, just streak marks. And then there are a few events where everything seems in slow motion, perfectly clear in my memory. I remember so vividly the day you were born.

I remember laughing during labor, which apparently caused my muscles to contract and pushed you further down. The doctor suggested just a few more jokes would push you right out.

I remember holding your little blue body for the first time. And though I thought I was prepared, I was hit with a sucker punch of emotion, the overwhelming realization of deep and powerful love.

I remember the doctor saying you were a lucky girl. The cord connecting us was tied in the tightest of true knots.

I remember giving you your first bath and then tucking your naked body into the front of my hospital gown. We lay there, chest to chest, skin on skin, while the nurse wrapped us in warm blankets. Our bodies in harmony, happy and content.

I remember introducing you to your sister for the first time. You put your hands in your mouth, and she thought that was hilarious.

I remember tucking you in bed with me after the last feeding. And the moment just before my eyes opened the next morning I wondered if it had all been a dream, but when I opened my eyes, I was looking directly into your beautiful, sleeping face.

Now a year has passed. You are sweet and bashful. You make a silly face that the neighborhood mothers are still trying to perfect. You adore your big sister. You suck your thumb. You eat just about anything. You love when I chase you around the house. You have a smooth, alto voice. You just learned to blow kisses. You love to sleep. If I am on the floor, you crawl in my lap and rest your head on my shoulder. You are changing and growing everyday; I can barely keep up.

I love you, Elly. Happy Birthday.