My baby is a year and a half old. A year and a half? How is this possible?
I have never known such joy, such worry, such sadness, and such pride in my life as I have these past few months with Lily. She is growing so fast, but at every moment, she is still that tiny helpless newborn I brought into the world. It is heartbreakingly beautiful.
Other mothers tried to tell me when I was expecting, everywhere from the line for the bathroom, to the OBGYN waiting room, down to the delivery room nurses. They kept telling me of this rush of love, this feeling of animal primal instinct, this crazy tidal wave of emotion. I would nod, but I never really got it.
Now I do. In spades.
I would gladly lay down my life for my child. I would die to protect her, put her needs before my own. I cannot listen to her cry without wanting to cry myself, cannot bear to see her hurt, and react with non too little irrationality at the thought of anything happening to her.
It is blinding, overwhelming, and terrifying how much I love her. I cannot even put into words my need for her.
I thank God everyday that I have these moments, that I get to raise my child, be home with her, be the one to kiss her boo-boos, make her lunch, and see her giggles.
What a gift I have been given in my sweet Lily. May I never forget, even when I want to send her to Timbuktu, how I feel in this moment.
