You have been here for three and a half weeks. I’m not sure how that’s possible, and at the same time, haven’t you always been a part of this crazy family? Sometimes it seems that way. We’ve been anticipating you for so long – especially your sisters, that I think when you got here, it seemed you were just returning from some long trip somewhere and that we all already knew you.
You were born in my bed.
It was a very difficult, strenuous labor. Even having been through two prior labors, yours was the hardest. And still, so very, very worth it. Worth every moment, every cry, every thought that I couldn’t do it a second longer.
And now, when I take you off to bed in the evening, and all your sisters are sleeping and the house is quiet, my room feels like this special place for you and I. Last weekend I changed the sheets for the first time since after you were born, and put the sheets back on the bed that were on it when you came.
Every night I lay down with you in the very spot where you first cried. Where I first met you and kissed your cheeks. Where I laid, thanking Jesus that you were here, that the labor was over and that I was laying there, in that very bed, holding my daughter that He had knit together right inside of me.
You are a miracle.
I look down at you frequently and think, “I can’t believe that I’ve been blessed with another daughter. That I’ve been given another little soul to love.” Of course, I’m not the only Mama around here. Nope, you’ve got five Mamas. Your other four are always very eager to help, kiss, smother, sing.
Bella loves to hold you, and it’s the first thing she asks to do when she gets home from school each day. She is always eager to help – changing diapers, picking out clothes, giving baths – you are her favorite new little doll.
Naomi is head over heels for you. And I was a little worried about how she’d react to you joining the family. She gives you about 500 kisses a day. Anytime you cry she makes sure that I don’t miss it. She runs to me pointing at you saying, “She crying! She crying!” She sings to you in the car. The look on her face when she gets to hold you is full of pride, joy, and excitement.
Tootaw randomly comes up to you several times a day and says, “I just love you baby Vida.”
But Sylvia. Sylvia seems to have some special bond with you. She is constantly holding you, touching you, singing to you, kissing you. Last night you were crying while I got ready for bed. I climbed into bed with you to nurse you, and Sylvia was not five seconds behind me. She climbed in on the other side of you and snuggled up just as close as she could possibly get to you and whispered, “Oh Vi-Vi (her name for you), it’s ok now, I’m here and you’re safe.” After you stopped crying she added, “Oh, is that what you wanted, you just wanted your Mommy and your Sylvie?” She regularly tells you that you are “the best gurl in the wuld.” She loves you so, so much.
There is so much love for you here.
As my belly begins to return to normal, and I can see how you’ve begun to grow, I snuggle you close not wanting to let go of this sacred thing that has just happened. Not wanting to forget your kicks, not wanting the relief of you being placed on my chest to fade, treasuring your newness – a soul so recently and intimately crafted by our Father. But I am also so anxious to see, as you grow, just who it is that He has created. Who you are and what you love and to find how you will live out your purpose here.
You are treasured. In the rare moments of quiet that we get together each day I whisper to you, “You are treasured. You are so loved.” And I whisper to Jesus, “Let her know you, let her find her purpose in Your glory.”
I love you Vida Elizabeth. I ask you now for grace when I stumble. I cannot wait to watch you grow, and to grow with you.
Love you, love you, love you,
Mama
