One month

Sweet little girl,

I am having a hard time believing you have been here for a month.  As you rise and fall with my breath, your legs still curled frog-like under you but your arms wrapped around my waist in what I can pretend is not an accidental hug, I realize that you are already starting to grow up.  I hope that in the craziness that was your first month of life - holidays, visitors, and of course your charming big sister - that I haven't missed any moments that I can't get back, but I know I probably have.  I'm sorry for that.

But there have been enough moments that I haven't missed, and I think you haven't missed them either.  You see everything with those wide blue eyes, and I think that even when you have your eyes closed you are listening to us.  You know how much we all love you, and how hard we're all trying to get this right.  And I'm pretty sure if I asked you, my calm, alert, agreeable baby, you'd tell me that we're doing just fine.  I think you have been telling me, and for that as well, I am grateful.

In our moments alone together like this one, I breathe slower and easier.  When you are sleeping, I want to hold you against my chest like this, flooding us both with all the chemicals that are really science's way of explaining love.  When you are awake, I am as fascinated by the newness of everything you see as you are.

I can't believe that your first month is already finished, that some of your tiniest is already gone, and I miss it. But I also know that what's coming next is going to be in so many ways so much better.  And while I can't promise that I will always get things right - I'm going to go ahead and promise that I won't - I can give you my word that I will always do the best I can for you, and that you and your sister will ALWAYS always be good enough for me.