Savoring This Gift
Today you are two weeks old. We hold you and stare at you and still can't believe you are here in our arms. You are calm and peaceful and you hardly ever cry. Some of your siblings call you "little diva" because as soon as you cry you are picked up and fed or rocked or soothed. I tell them that they too were "little divas" and were picked up and held as soon as they made a peep. (I never took the advice of letting babies "cry it out.") You sleep and eat almost constantly, but there are times when you are bright-eyed and stare into our eyes and every once in a while give us a little smile. One of your siblings tells me it's an involuntary smile, but I don't believe that. I say it's the real thing.
In the evenings we all sit together in the living room and watch old Andy Griffith episodes. Your brothers and sisters fight over who gets to hold you next. Sometimes I don't want to let go of you so they have to wait.
As always during these times when we are all together as I family, I think about Anne Marie, your sister you will only know through our stories. I picture her here with us, patting you and also begging to hold you. My joy and my sadness coexist, but mostly I am grateful -- for you our unexpected gift, for Anne Marie, for your brothers and sisters, and for your daddy.
In the evenings we all sit together in the living room and watch old Andy Griffith episodes. Your brothers and sisters fight over who gets to hold you next. Sometimes I don't want to let go of you so they have to wait.
As always during these times when we are all together as I family, I think about Anne Marie, your sister you will only know through our stories. I picture her here with us, patting you and also begging to hold you. My joy and my sadness coexist, but mostly I am grateful -- for you our unexpected gift, for Anne Marie, for your brothers and sisters, and for your daddy.
