Last year on this night I went to bed late, shaky with labor and fairly certain that we would be meeting our baby soon.
Tonight I am baking cupcakes, frosting them, and thinking how crazy it is that one year ago I did not yet know your face, your name, or even your sex. Because today I feel I know you so completely. We two are one. You are in my arms, in my face, or pulling at my legs pretty much all day, every day. And a fair amount of the nighttime too. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.
I need you, Mama, your reaching arms say to me. And I need you, Baby, my arms reach right back. You need warmth and love, milk and kisses every bit as much as I need to give you those things. And so together we are perfect. We two are one and I sometimes dare to think that I must know everything about you.
But of course I don’t.
I don’t know yet who you will be, really be. I don’t know yet what you will be like, really like. I don’t know yet what you will do, really do. But the One who made you and gave you to us knows all of these things and more. He knows that they are good. And in His goodness He has seen fit to give you, all of you, to us. Little old us.
And we are forever grateful.