I stared at your photo last night. Your dad was beside me watching another conspiracy film on the assassination of JFK. He does that sort of thing. The graphic nature of the film made me queasy. So with my hands covering my face, my attention wandered around the room until something caught my eye. Tucked nicely inside my purse were two, black and white photos peeking out from inside my bag. I should have ignored them, and gotten ready for bed but I couldn’t resist getting one last look at you.
It was late, the lights were out, and yet I sat there with a flashlight mulling over every little detail of your 4×4 print. Like a bee hovering over the most delicate flower, I couldn’t escape your beauty. For the first time, I saw you as a real person. You were no longer the little blip on the monitor. No longer a foreign entity that felt separate from myself. You weren’t a ‘thing’ anymore; you were my daughter. I thought about the hour we spent lying in the sonogram room. Your hands were so real, as I watched you place them together, almost prayer-like. Your legs were full of energy, and they made me laugh as they flailed around- never staying in one place for longer than a moment. You had a perfect silhouette that I couldn’t have imagined any better myself. From that moment on, I’ll forever see you as a living, breathing (sort of) precious creation of your dad and I. In that sonogram room with jelly all over my stomach, I had become your mom.
As I sat in bed next to your dad, I took each photo and reveled in their details. I felt so at peace there beside him. Like I was your biggest fan, holding a pack of priceless mint baseball cards. Your dad remained quiet but did his best to entertain my silly comments. Occasionally, I’d glance over and I’d catch his eyes looking, too. The first picture was of your two feet tucked in close to one another.
Your tiny feet, perfectly outlined by black and white, exposing just enough that I could make out your little toes. I imagined the struggle of putting and keeping socks on you, and the adventure of finding them strung about the house. I sat there for a minute before the photo of your silhouette took front and center.
I’d say you looked angelic but I’m probably being biased. I just can’t believe that’s really you. You held your head still, long enough for me to get butterflies. It was almost like you knew how important it was for me to see you. I’m sorry for not feeling as connected to you as I did right then and there. Seeing your outline took priority over everything else in my life. I forgot about the fact that I was hungry, or all the work I had to do around house. All I could think about was doing my best not to blink. In an amazing stroke of lucky, we got to watch you yawn. Had we not been focused on your face, at that exact moment and location, we could have easily missed it. Not only do you move around like crazy now, but you do silly, random things like yawn. Such an eye opener.
I felt so proud. Not of me, but of you. Proud to see how far you’ve grown over the last 22 weeks. Proud to see my little girl, full of energy and full of life. I traced my fingers over the precious curvature of your little nose and got carried away with my thoughts about our future.
Thank you, little one, for the most amazing day.