Gracie Girl

Tomorrow our Gracie girl turns one year old. A whole year. I was trying to think of a way to share a little bit of what this one amazing, magical year has been like for me, and I thought I would just post some of the things I have written for myself--and sometimes sort of to Gracie--since she first entered our life.

Gracie, or Miss Grace McKenna, was born at nine-thirty on a Sunday morning, just the time that most people were settling into their armchairs with toast, eggs, and coffee (and for those lucky ones, a nice crossword puzzle and a bold inky pen). And she was perfect.

Labor itself had been long and a little boring; quiet, with Steve and my parents sort of milling around for hours in the night taking turns napping on the chair-cum-bed set up in there for husbands. I never thought I would want my parents there, but it was actually nice to have the company. Dad read a book, Mom talked to me during some of the worse contractions, and Steve was there with my heart every second. If I needed water I got it. He helped unplug all my cords from the monitors so I could take bathroom breaks. He took care of me.

The contractions were bad but not terrible, especially tempered with the warm heat of my epidural. It took the edge off at least. Plus they gave me that wonderful clicky button for the bad moments, so I could up my dosage just enough.

There were some moments when we were all quiet. No nurses in the room, no one fussing and fluttering about. So I napped, watched Bill Cosby on late night reruns, and absorbed the pale greens and rhythmic sounds of the delivery room. I watched her heartbeat on the monitor by my bed, listened intently to it as I slept, and waited for her to come. Oh how I listened. Oh how we waited.

When she was born my heart was struck by her perfect tiny pink seashell fingernails. How could this sweet little baby have grown inside me—perfection down to the smallest part of her. She takes my breath away.

I’m holding her in my arms as I feed her. She is so lovely, with small, perfect chubby hands--so small they make my own hands seem oversized and clumsy. Her tiny fingers curl around my thumb, pulling it close to her face as she sucks, eyes closed or wide and focused. This is serious business.

She smells soft, like pure cotton and warm milk. I breathe in the scent of her downy brown baby fuzz; it will be a long time before we can clip a bow in her hair.

The curves of her little cheek are perfect. Her knuckles even have the same creases as mine, but infinitesimally small. Bathed in milky morning sunlight, my heart breaks with how much I love her, and at how quickly all of this will change. How could anyone choose to have only one baby? To never have this same sweetness again?

I kiss the creamy softness of her small cheek, nuzzle my nose against the base of her jaw, in her soft neck. I love her and she is beautiful.

She is happy in the bath this evening. We tried sitting her up in the tub last week but she only folded in half. She is strong, but not quite strong enough. Tonight she is holding herself up well, though, and has only tipped forward far enough for me to catch her once. She gives me the most delicious gum smile as she rediscovers her own power to splash. Water sparkles as it cascades over the sides of the bathtub, and I am soaked but laughing. It’s as if we’re discovering all these things together. I see the world again; the magic is beginning to come back.

I wonder, what will happen when I don’t feed you in my arms anymore? When will I hold you? Will you still let me hold you? Always?

I couldn’t have imagined there would ever be anyone in the world I’d want to hold as much as your daddy, and then you came. And every day feels a little like losing you to grown-up hood, but so wonderful at the same time. To see you learn and grow. It makes my heart soar.

Tomorrow you are one year old. An entire year has passed, and I love you a hundred million times more than I ever knew I could love. You light up our hearts. I can never find the words; I love you so much. Thank you for being our baby. We love you. Happy birthday, angel baby bright eyes, our Gracie girl.