Monday, July 1, 2013

A Sort of Love Letter, I Suppose

2 years ago today, I calmly walked into the hospital, my husband's hand firmly in mine. We signed some paperwork, changed into our surgery clothes, and waited.
I remember being extremely nervous about the C-section and the spinal block I was about to have. Not the fact that I was about to plunge into motherhood. Upon reflection, perhaps I spent too much time planning the birth and not enough time contemplating motherhood. Or rather, maybe that was the way to go. Considering the first lesson we learned in parenting is that One Must Not Have A Plan. Babies are rule breakers, planner poopers.
Anyway, I remember getting that spinal tap (ouch), the deadness of my lower body, the curtain between me and my abdomen drawn closed. I remember my husband and I holding hands. I remember that very first cry.  I remember itching my face off in a morphine fit, I remember her beautiful eyes, the tininess of her being in my arms. 
I'd like to think that I remember everything, both the good and the bad. I went through a pretty tough time her first year, struggling to adjust to being a mommy to little Grace. My spitfire, my comedian, my love.
Today, Grace has grown into this impossibly adorable little human, complete with emotions and feelings and opinions and need and wants. I mean, she had them before, but her only way of communicating anything was through crying. Now, she's added laughing and broken English to her communication arsenal. My favorite words of hers is "walalalalal-er" (water,) "zoomi!" (for her favorite TV show Team Umizoomi,) and a very clear "yeah."
She's incredibly maternal, always wanting to feed her constant companion, Bunny. Declaring that Bunny pooped and we must get a diaper for the stuffed animal. Kissing Bunny, snuggling Bunny. Thankfully, she still likes to snuggle with us too. She likes to feed us imaginary food as well, bringing little plastic fry pans and large spoons to our faces and encouraging us to take part. And we do, with zeal.
She's getting to that age where skinned knees are an every day occurrence, and so are requests for my suddenly magically healing kisses.
She also emotes disproportionately to the situation, a trait that I find exhausting and hilarious at the same time. Say "no" to Grace and you'd think I cut off her left pinky. But as quickly as the storm begins to rage, the calm settles in just as fast.
I never thought I'd feel this way about another human being, ever. But there it is: I love my Gracie. All of her, every last perfection and flaw.
Today we celebrate the first 730 days of her life. 24 months. 2 full years of Grace.
Grace: it is a priviledge being your mom. I love you.