Things we do:
- gaze at one another endlessly
- chat – and this little girl can talk. She tells me all about it. At 9 weeks! Is that normal?
- smile and smile and gaze some more
- rock back and forth in our nursing chair, the chair that's just for us, but that often bears the weight of two big brothers who never tire of kissing their baby sister (or their mumma)
- sleep fitfully when we are apart and then soundly when we are cheek to cheek
Every day, every. single. day., I pinch myself that she is here. She sleeps beside me now, in her rocker, making little 'peeps' as she dreams. What could she be dreaming of? Could her dreams possibly outweigh those I have for her? For us?
Does she know that I have been waiting for her all my life? That she has completed the circle for me? That I could never leave her? That someone would have to kill me before they could pry her from my arms? But that in spite of this, I admire my birth mother even more because she was able to do just that? For there can be no more selfless an act. Even if I knew I was not the best thing for my children, could I have made that same decision? It seems impossible.
Thankfully, these are questions I will never have to answer.
Some day, when my daughter is fifteen and no doubt hating my guts, I hope she will understand that right here, at the beginning, I understood her better than anyone and turned myself inside out to be exactly what she needed, as I have for each of my children. As I always will.