7 Month Intoxication

Dear Greta,

As I write this, it's a rainy, chilly February day. It's the kind of day where you'd like to stay in bed all day while reading a good book with a snoozing dog at your feet. Alas, that's no longer the life of this mom-of-a-seven-month-old! While you're in your crib all snugly and napping, I'm curled up on the couch, donning my spit-up stained pjs, watching talk-show host/chef Rachael Ray interview a father whose wife died the day after giving birth to their daughter.

That dad's name is Matt Logelin. His story is a tragic one. It makes mama sad to think about it too much. But it also makes me remember that there is overwhelming joy after unbearable sadness, that there is undeniable happiness in the smallest of things. I'm crying as I watch the interview. I'm crying because it's such a sad story, and I can't fathom walking in the shoes of that mom, dad or baby girl. I'm crying, too, though because I am so very grateful as I am reminded of my blessings, of living a life I of which I've always dreamt.

I think that each month, I tell you what a beautiful month it's been and how it's been the best so far. It's true though. It just keeps getting better. The past seven months have been the most fulfilling of my life. I've watched you grow from a quiet, tiny preemie to a serene, yet bubbly, inquisitive baby. I've witnessed your first grins, heard your first giggles, soothed your cries, fed your needs and loved every moment of it.

I often note my gratitude for you, your health and your accomplishments, but I often fail to thank Daddy, the man who enables me to live this life with you. Daddy, the man who gets up early each morning and works all day -- all for me and you -- has made me realize that the gift of time is the most precious.

I covet my time with you.

I have a lot of mommy friends who say, "Oh, I could never do that. I could never stay home all day long. I'd go nuts." And while I don't judge moms who work outside of the home -- whether it be by choice or necessity -- I have to admit that I can't imagine my life any other way

While Daddy has provided me with the gift of time, you have graced me with presence, teaching me to live in the moment of here and now. I have spent many moments in my life just going through the motions, walking in fog, not truly feeling true emotion. I have both purposely and sometimes unconsciously voided events and memories in my life in attempts to bypass the risk of hurt, and I know that at the same time, I've caused myself to also miss out on other raw emotions, like joy. Not with you, though. You have opened the gates to my heart, and it's constantly flooded with the delight of YOU.

Stories like Matt Logelin's remind us that we often take things for granted. Life is too short. I know this by how fast it's been flying by. I've spent the past month playing catch-up on scrapbooking your photo albums. Because I don't want to ever forget any of this bliss. Like when you're 13 and think I am embarassing and would rather pretend to not know me. Or when you're 15 and think you know every thing and that I know nothing. I want to chronicle your life -- milestone by moment by minute. I don't want to forget. Any of it.

Like how I fell in love with you in the sixth month for all different reasons than why I'd fallen in love with you before. The raspberries during dinner and the loving to swim in the bathtub and the fascination with your feet. The way you crinkle your little button nose when you try a new vegetable and the way you devour sweet fruit with each new bite. The way you've become intrigued by your doggie Payton and the way you curiously and intently stare out the front window, soaking in the uneventful mid-afternoon nothings of our neighborhood.

You. The sweet moments with you. I am so intoxicated by these simple things.

Love,

Mama