Today you’ve been on earth for 566 days. It sounds long, but often a day goes by in a minute. I still remember with surprising clarity what it felt like to meet you. The pain and also the shock, that you were real. The amazement that daddy and I created another person. Especially one as perfect and lovely as you. And I remember the breath that was caught in my chest. The tears that pooled, and settled in the back of my throat. The warmth of your skin on my belly and the weight of the instinct to protect you.
Today you’re full of smiles. You’re wearing your fine, golden hair in a ponytail, and you’re pointing to Mommy and Daddy’s bed, demanding “up!” You’re running in circles around us. It’s hard to believe, but you’re a big girl now.
You are curious and deliberate. Dexterous and strong. You love slides, and dancing. And giving kisses to your sister Harley.
You are stubborn and serious. Careful, yet fearless.
Everyone says you look just like your dad, but your spirit is unmistakably mine. You know what you want, and you make it known. You make me laugh, every day. And you test every last morsel of my patience.
Someday, when you’re old enough, you’ll probably read this blog. And you’ll read how quickly you turned my world upside down. How I struggled to breastfeed you. How I ached when you weaned. How my heart hurt going back to work, and later, how I craved the reprieve.
Someday, you might endure those same struggles.
You will get through it.
You’ll read how some days we were meant to be. And others, how I doubted my ability to be good enough, to be mom enough, for you.
Someday, you might feel the same.
You are good enough.
You’ll read how more than once, Mommy was faced with making a choice between what she felt was right, and what the people she trusted most thought she was ready for. You were one of those choices.
Someday, you might face similar decisions.
Listen to your heart.
When you read these stories, Mia, I hope that through all the gripes and jokes you feel how fiercely I love you. How grateful I am for your life.
I look at you now, full of fire and spice and 25 pounds of personality, and I couldn’t be more proud.
You are strong, physically and mentally. And when you test me, I remember that the fire in you started in my belly.
So Mia, my love, remember this: I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you. I know those words can only mean so much, right now. But keep them close. Store them in your heart.
And if the day ever comes that you’re holding your own tiny, beautiful little life, those words will come pouring out. And for the first time, you’ll understand.
I love you more than I love anything, Mia. More than the sun is far away.