I've spent the last few days in a haze of emotions and hormones, you'd think I was an eight month pregnant chick fighting over the last pickle jar, when the smallest of Halmart commericals can make you tear up you know you got a problem.
But, in my defense my baby is turning one next week, and I call still feel her inside me, I can still lay down in my bed, and feel her body moving under my skin, so close yet so far.
I still can taste her new skin on my lips in the OR, and feel the fear of hoping she was okay in the NICU. I remember bringing her home and nursing her for hours into the night, not caring about sleep, because she was my baby girl and I wanted to stare ate he forever.
I remember when she first rolled over, and first passed her blood tests and didnt need anymore. I remember when she went to daycare for the first time, and the heart-tugging feeling to sit in the car before driving to work.
I remember when she got her first tooth, and when, this week, she started walking.
My daughter, her eyes are so full of life, and innocence. Inside her is the future, and I, her mother hold the key in determining how she will choose to live her life.
I cannot belive it's been a year, it went by too fast, and yet I feel I have known her my entire life.
We were destined to be together, I her mother, and her my daughter.
I can already picture baking together, and ballet, and boyfriends, and makeup and graduation and her wedding.
I can see our life together, and cannot imagine life without her.
She changed my soul, showed me my capacity of love - that my heart has the capability to endlessly grow.
She continues to teach me, and continues, like a rubber band, to show me my ability to love more, give more, and beleive in more.
And, least I forget ( how could I ever)
The little boy, who is not so little, who made me a mommy
Who taught me what love was to begin with.
I was going to write about our experience with Teeball after our first day this week, I was going to write things about his shyness, and how I felt like I was denying him something by giving him too much attention. But I didnt, I was too emotional to write, I was in my own world, processing my feelings.
What I learned was, as a parent we each do what we think is best, what we know to do, and we each try our hardest. At the end of the day whether you played with your child five hours, or read four books, or made homemade soup doesnt matter.
What matters is, did they feel loved?
Each day my sons knows these things. I love him.
No matter what, I love him if he's shy, if he's the class clown, if he plays piano or likes comic books.
This week, my son was uuber shy, I was worried about it, I thought about it for two days and when we went back for his second practice I saw the beauty of childhood.
He faced his fears, meeting new people is scary its intimidating, even if its doing something fun like baseball.
I also thought about it, and came to the conclusion that my son is not shy, he is quiet. He is reserved.
And that's okay. He is an observer, with a hell of a swing
I saw joy in his eyes, after getting over his uncertainty, I saw pure joy, when watching his coach, when running bases and playing with the other kids
when looking back to make sure I was watching his hit, or his catch
What I want to tell him is I will always be watching,I will always be proud
I tell him in hugs, and kisses, and high fives, in snacks and lego towers
I live for the joy. It is my fuel.
and these two are mine