In the days leading up to Virginia's birth I had one ugly cry. The sun had not yet risen, but I was awake and alone in my room. I was overwhelmed and knew that the only way I could make it through the next day was to let out a good cry. I cried hard enough to cover my pillow, long enough to see the sun rise and deep enough to give myself resolve. I put myself at peace that morning and knew we would be ok. It took weeks to cry again.
I cried for the first time in a long time last night as I nursed and rocked Virginia to sleep. It wasn't tears of fear and it wasn't long and it wasn't hard but it was deep. Deep enough to remind myself to enjoy these days and to enjoy these moments. It is cliche, but they grow and change so fast. As I rocked her I made a point to remember how heavy she felt, how her legs dangled well past my lap and over the arm of the chair, and how her tuft of hair puffed and swirled just so down onto her forehead. It was only 11 months ago that I held Virginia for the first time. I can still feel where her head rested below my collar bone and her toes stretched to just a few inches above my belly button. I can still feel her little arms, smaller than my fingers, as they would tuck under her chest. I hope in the coming months and years I can take the time every so often to find that peace, to remind myself that we will be ok, and to remember just how she looks at that moment. Photos and words are only the next best thing to memories.
March 2012 - somewhere between that tiny baby that I first held 11 months ago and the big baby that didn't even fit on my lap last night.