Dear Eisley,
I forgot what it’s like to have new baby placed on your chest – all warm and slippery and utterly new. Blood circulates down to your hands and your tiny feet, and your skin slowly changes from white to pink. Your chest is pressed to mine as your lungs fill with air for the very first time.
I forgot how hard it is to name a baby… to speak a legacy over a child’s life with the words you put on the birth certificate.
I forgot all the funny sounds newborns make. The squeaks, the grunts, the desperate whimpers for milk.
I forgot how the diapers and the tiny clothes seem too big at first. And then three weeks and three pounds later, they suddenly seem too small. These newborn days rush by faster than my memory can keep up.
I forgot what 3am feels like. I forgot how tired I would be – that I would struggle to keep my eyes open and fall asleep with you in my arms. I am adamantly against co-sleeping, except when I’m too exhausted to care.
I forgot how cute it is to see a little baby curled up on my husband’s chest. He has introduced you to the NBA playoffs and the ESPN commentators as you doze. You are oblivious to all the sports acronyms but perfectly content to spend the evening in daddy’s arms.
I forgot how entirely needy babies are – completely vulnerable in every way. I forgot you would show me my own need for a Savior with your floppy head and wet diapers and endless appetite.
I forgot what it’s like to have a baby fall asleep in my arms, giving little half smiles and deep breaths of abandon. It’s a great privilege to be trusted so completely.
I forgot what it’s like to love a human being so fully even though you’ve only known her for a few days. I forgot what it’s like to revel in your novelty while also imagining who you will someday become.
I forgot.
But I write it down now so I can always remember.
Love,
Mama
