Twenty-six years ago today, my darling daughter was born. By this time of the morning, I was holding my child, telling her she was safe in her mother’s arms and everything was all right. My own dear mother was hovering next to us, making sure all the body parts were there – five fingers on each little hand, five toes on each tiny foot, two beautiful eyes tightly shut as if in denial of her entry into a strange world, a little rosebud mouth pursed in uncertainty, the most adorable of dimples on her little chin. Yup, all there! Soon, the midwife and the pediatric nurse took my newest, and best ever, gift to be weighed, measured, foot-printed, bathed, and just generally eased into the world outside. My mother followed close behind, to make sure nobody switched our baby in the nursery!
We’ve weathered the years together very well, my darling daughter and I. We made it through the terrible twos and threes (“You’re not the boss of me!” she’d inform me, fresh from her pre-school experience. “Oh, yes, I am,” I told her. “It’s a dirty job and somebody’s got to do it!”). We continued to talk to each other through the tween and teen years. And we still like to spend time together.
I’ve been very lucky, and priviledged, to have this Perfect Expression of Self choose me as her parent, protector, and guide in this lifetime. I’m very grateful for the experience…
Happy birthday, my child! xoM