My baby crawled into bed with me today. The baby whose world is about to be completely different. The baby who is about to learn how to truly share mommy and share toys and share space and share love.
She woke up from her nap and couldn’t find me. I heard her pitter-patter feet on the hardwoods and then a moment later she was using her daddy’s side of the quilt to haul herself up beside me, whimpering a bit because she wasn’t quite awake and mommy hadn’t immediately been there.
Almost every afternoon I lift her from her crib turned toddler bed and buckle her into her carseat to fetch her sissies from school. Almost every afternoon I’m right where she expects me to be. And today when she finally discovered I was resting, she crawled up beside me, tucked her head under my chin and went back to sleep, all heavy limbs and soft breathing and swirly hair tickling my nose.
I love her so much.
I love her sisters, too, but she was different. We expected her and anticipated her and savored her, sure she was the very last.
I cried the first time she walked and again when she finally nursed for the last time. For the past few days (and probably for the few remaining) every time I rock her, I wonder if it’s the last time it’s just the two of us on these sleepy afternoons.
Today I held her close and marveled at how perfectly and wonderfully made she is and thanked God that He has taught me to appreciate these moments.
So I will be ready for the ones to come.