Six months have passed now since darkness of the early morning hours of March 22 when a team of doctors and nurses pulled you from my body and whisked you away to NICU.
Six months have passed since I looked at you in your tiny isolette with tubes sticking out of your nose, contraptions strapped to your little chest and IVs taped into your tiny veins. Six months since I brushed my finger oh so carefully across the skin on your chest, since I sniffed that sweet newborn smell that I'll never forget, yet can't quite remember at the same time.
So tiny. So fragile. So reliant on mommy and daddy for everything you needed. So loud, cranky and red in the face.
Now, I hold you upside down. Daddy pratically dangles you upside down. I spin you in circles. I let you stand clutching precariously to only my index fingers, trying out your wobbly legs in this world. We dance insane dances around the living room to songs that Mommy sings, to the music in our heads.
You are light, laughter and love.
You have acheived so many physical and emotional milestones since March. I say this every month but you amaze me with your ability to learn something new every single day. I could go on for hours about the nuances of your smiles, the sounds that you make.
The way you scrunch your face when you try a new taste of food, as if you could orally deduce the very chemical makeup of what you are eating. The way you smile when your Daddy walks into a room. The way you are almost reaching for mommy. They way you rest your cheek on my chest sometimes when you get tired and I think I could sit like that for hours.
Yesterday you were sitting on my lap and you looked up at me and patted my cheek and laid your head on my chest, over my heart. For all the sadness and heaviness in my heart, I healed a little bit right then. I think you knew Mommy was sad, and in your way offered comfort.
I love you so much Evelyn Grace.