because it is worth saying again.


Maybe you have noticed that I have been pretty absent here lately.
I'll address that another day. maybe.

But for now, I am going to cheat and post something I wrote a few years ago.
Because it is worth saying again. And mostly because my friend is living it all over again. This time a month sooner. Coming in at only 2 lbs 3 ounces. My kids were both well over 8lbs and I was still afraid I was going to break them. For months. So I can't even really fathom that, except I've seen pictures and when you see past all the tubes they have going into him. He looks pretty perfect. Because he is.

Just Breathe
My sweet Tess is just a few days over 7 months. She has one little tooth. I have yet to see her really crawl, but she can manage her way across a room. I swear she can say momma although some people might say she is too little to know what she is saying. She is at the age where she seems to be learning a “new trick” almost everyday.

Owen is also learning all kinds of things. How to write his name, that blue and yellow make green and how to dribble a soccer ball.

I am amazed at what they learn, but it also leads to expectations. I wonder when Tess will crawl, or when Owen will read, or when Tess will let me get a good solid night of sleep, or when Owen will make it through his soccer game without crying.

I love my kids as close to unconditionally as humanly possible. But all these new expectations means that occasionally I am going to be disappointed. Or wonder if they are ok, or on track, or as smart or talented or ( fill in the blank) as the other kids. I hope that they will grow up to be smart and kind and happy. I hope that they make good grades in school, that they will not get mixed up in the "wrong crowd". I hope that they will graduate from college and find spouses and make me beautiful grandbabies ( in that order).

But just 7 months and 4 days ago ( or almost 4 years ago w/ O) all I was hoping for was that first cry. Just to know that the baby they pulled from my body would breathe. That she was alive.

I loved her perfectly and fully as she sat in the warming tray across the room before I could even touch her and squeeze her and count her toes. Before eating solids, or potty training or algebra.

One of my friends just had a baby yesterday. A little bitty bit of a thing weighing in at not quite 2 and a half pounds. I have seen a few pictures and he is pink and perfect, despite all the tubes that seem to get in the way of his cute face. She was short a few months to prepare. Do all the necessary things like buy a carseat, pack a hospital bag and pick out a name. She didn’t sit around and wonder if he would weigh 8 lbs or have blue eyes or score a perfect 10 on his Apgar test. Instead she skipped straight to the important part. She held her breathe and hoped and prayed for that first cry.

That cry where you instantly fall in love. A love that hasn’t been earned. Love that just is. Love that hopes to steal a glimpse before they quickly wheel him to NICU. Love that impatiently waits 30 long hours to meet her son for the first time. Love that doesn’t need him to sleep through the night, or kick a soccer ball, or clean his room. But the kind that just wants a glimpse or to grab his finger.

My God loves me like this. Not because of what I do or don't do, or how many friends I have or because I go to church. But simply because He created me. 2 lbs or 140lbs*.

(and let's be honest -- I weigh more than 140 lbs. but this is my blog I can lie if I want to!)

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