But not today.
Today is my baby's nine-month birthday. Nine months ago, at this time, I was probably attempting to get her to latch by myself, counting her eyelashes, marveling over her soft skin and sweetsweet baby smell. Kissing Charlie as I reclined against him in that hospital bed built for one, so proud of the new life we created together. Sharing tears of joy with my parents, the nurses, everyone who came to see Lydia the day she was born.
She was entirely too perfect, from those long fingers of hers to the tip of her swollen little nose, bruised from the force of my contractions. I remember staring into her eyelids, begging her to please, please baby open your eyes. And then she would, and give a little sigh, and snuggle in closer...she knew she was home!
So today we napped together, snuggled together the way we were the day she was born. I nursed her down, reclined in our big bed, and I laid there with her in my arms for two hours breathing her in. What a luxury and beautiful two hours that was. She smiled and cooed in her sleep, twisted and tried to sleep on her side like she loves to. Nine months ago she was so petite, so seemingly fragile, squishy and relaxed. Now she's a fireball even while dreaming. But today I held her close, and breathed with her, absorbing every little ounce of sweetness she has. Happy nine-month birthday, Lydia. We love you so much.