Thursday, May 5, 2011
This is when we first officially met. I had seen you for a brief second in the operating room. You were squirmy, and your arms were outstretched when they held you up, but it was quick, and I was a little foggy. When I was wheeled into the recovery room with Daddy, and you had been cleaned up, and checked out, this moment, here in this snapshot, is when I first laid eyes on you.
And, I remember looking at you, and thinking how odd you looked. You were really squishy. Your nose looked like it needed to unwrinkle a bit. Like a down comforter out of the wash. With a little use, it would fluff up just fine, and all the lumps would find where they needed to go. You only opened one eye, for the longest time. I kept prying opening the other lid, to make sure there was an eyeball in there. You had little frog legs, and a round belly that was the shape of a ball. You had very dark hair, and I knew your eyes would stay blue. You looked like you did not come out of my body. Nothing about you resembled me. At all. Your fingers. Your toes. The shape of your lips. I looked, and searched. I still am.
You are wonderful in every way. You are so incredibly difficult at the very same time. You are funny and creative, and smart. You are lazy, and love a shortcut. You have surprised all of us, and continue to everyday, emerging more and more into who you are to be. I love you. I ache for you. I understand you some days, and wish you could talk to me more on most days. You have a swirl of color and light in that small head of yours. You are stubborn. You are a gift. You have long, skinny fingers that express all of your words. You are Alice. Like Daddy calls you. Our girl who would go down the rabbit hole.
Six years old today. You are magnificent.