I made my way through the darkened room, trying not to stumble over discarded toys from the night before. My path was dimly lit by the pink owl nightlight, and as I approached her crib I was greeted by a tiny bottom sticking straight into the air, like a baby bear cub wearing fleece footies with flowers.
I hefted her sleeping body into my arms and was immediately taken aback by the weight of her in my cradle carry. She was getting big I thought, and not for the first time either.
I settled into the rocker and covered us both with a blanket to ward off the morning chill. I began to rock back and forth as I offered her awaiting lips a pull of warm milk.
Her eyes never opened, but she sought her breakfast easily enough led by instinct and routine. And that was how we settled into our morning regimen. Like an old comfy shirt.
I rocked and I prayed. Another routine that came so naturally on a cold, early work-day morning. A heart full of praise for the gift I fed.
As I felt the weight of her upon my lap, and glimpsed how her body covered me from one side of the chair to another, I was confronted with the realization that this simple, yet easily joyous routine would not last much longer.
My baby, though always my baby, was growing quickly, far too quickly for a mommy who loves rocking little ones in the light of breaking dawn.
I fell back into my prayer and praise, despite the twinge of nostalgic sadness gripping at my heart. In a tiny moment, so many prayers uttered to my Heavenly Father, dreams of more children shared with Him then, on the cusp of thanksgiving for the gift of motherhood held.
I looked at her face in that sacred moment, the way her cheeks filled her face and gave it a heart shape. I drank in the beauty of her bushel of eyelashes, curling into the sky like a come hither gesture to my soul.
As I held her in my arms, her hunger quenched and sleep surrounding her in tranquility, I gazed at her full lips, small pink tongue poking through. So beautiful, a glimpse of Heaven, God’s handiwork in the flesh. And I felt undeserving.
What had I done to deserve such joy?
For some reason I thought of my mother just then. I felt the double barrel shotgun of twin emotions gripping me; sadness, yet joy.
As I filled myself on the pure sight of her I wondered how someone could give up the gift of such a miracle, choosing to end a life before it has a chance to breathe the sweet air of love outside the womb.
They must not know. They must not have experienced the fullness of seeing themselves, not the ugly parts, just the pure goodness displayed in the body of a baby. If I could take this moment and press it in between the pages, keeping it fresh, I would place it in an envelope, delivered to their heart, so they could see, see the truth of life, a life loved beyond imagination.
I glanced at my watch, cursed time, although not angrily. The freshness of my beautiful moment still held me captive in its fragrance. So I rose and was again surprised at the growing weight I held in my embrace. Despite its toll I did not want to release it. But I did.
As I placed my prize gingerly upon the mattress she rolled, once again placing her bottom towards the sky. I smiled. My heart swelled. And I smiled.