"God gave us memories that we might have roses in December." ~J.M. Barrie
Last night before we went to bed, DH and I were looking at some video we took of Maeve when she was so, so little. She has a look of perpetual disgust and surprise on her face, as if to say, "I never thought the world would be like this." And we couldn't help but keep exclaiming how very tiny she was.
Thank God for how easy it is to take home movies; we will always be able to see exactly what she looked like when she was so little, the little squinty frog that she was. The images of her at that age had already begun to disappear from my memory.
But what I can't forget is how it felt when we brought her home in our arms. I have never been so happy and terrified and exhausted before. Every moment I held her was breathless and perfect, when she wasn't screaming, heart-wrenching and eternal when she was. I felt strong like a momma and scared like a squirrel, at once powerful and powerless. I had known before she was in my arms she was going to need me, I had no idea how much I was going to need her.
My roses this coming December will be those first images of my daughter, new and gazing up at me, and the way my heart leapt each time we shared that gaze.