A home without books is a body without soul. - Cicero
The birthday week...
Three weeks old, on a Grandma-made quilt
My girl is almost seven. We celebrated at dinner tonight, at Carrabba's, where she wore a glittery tiara and a beautiful pink dress that looked entirely too grown up. In some ways, I can't remember life before she came along. Maybe that's because life didn't really start until she was here.
The clearest memory I have - and I hope it remains this clear for the rest of my life - was when the midwife placed her on my stomach right after she was born. I think the umbilical cord still connected us. There she was, with a cap of black hair and clear blue eyes. I know they say that newborn babies can only see a couple of inches in front of them, but her eyes met mine, and in that moment, something tangible passed between us. I knew that she recognized me as her mama, and I knew that she knew she had my mind, heart, and soul, and always would.
The last almost-seven years haven't always been smooth, and have challenged me in ways I never imagined, but I wouldn't trade a single second of it for all the money in the world.