It reminds me of the (made-up by mama) song that I've sung to her all these months:
I love you little Mirren,
who God made out of us . . .
(it goes on, but I'll spare you).
We thought we were losing her when she was just weeks-old, just after we found out about her. Amongst wake-up-sobbing cramps, I prayed. "Jesus," I said, "hold my girl."
And he did. I felt, though how I can't explain, his arms around her, holding, always holding. And she lived, our blondest little one, and I've always felt her relationship with him as something separate from mine, something beautiful and good, but that I cannot ever, ever touch. Sacred, like a burning bush or a pillar of fire.
I'm grateful for her life, her little emerging personality, her solidness and stubbornness and the determination with which she faces challenges. I'm grateful for how she's beginning to see walking as a possibility, how she clamps her mouth and "mmm's" when she's done eating, how she manages to stand up in her bed with her legs still swaddled.
And I'm grateful for time away, for 24 solid hours this weekend with Dave. We're making a lot of big decisions and change hangs on our horizon, and we need the time to rest together, and to talk. So I'm grateful for rainy days at the beach, for the way water drops on blossoms and how Earl Grey hangs on in my soul even when the cup is empty. I'm grateful for jacuzzi tubs and amazing dinners (especially when I just happen upon them) and that we can choose what's best, even when it's also hardest. And I'm grateful for him, that he doesn't have to be perfect or put-together but can just be who and where he's at.
Blessings, all. May your lives be rich this week.
(Joining with Ann to praise and pray.)