…I thought that now, at one year later, I would finally have words for this.
Words for what it felt like to hold her, outside of my body, for the very first time.
Words for what it felt like to look at her living, breathing soul.
But I don’t.
I still have no words — only awe,
only wonder,
only joy.
So, so much joy.
To God be the glory, great things He has done!
Today, this has mainly been my view — the back of a very quickly moving Aveline. It’s been a “part of” kind of day.
Part of the laundry folded.
Part of an article for Babiekins Magazine written.
Part of Aveline’s birthday crown made.
Part of the bathroom cleaned.
But that’s ok. It’s been a day full of life, full of laughter, full of joy, full of peace.
I wouldn’t trade my position now with any one.
I love being a mama. I couldn’t think of a better gift in the world than my little, hilarious, laughing miracle.
It’s sweater weather, finally. The air conditioner is switched off, and in the evenings when the windows are open, the curtains float up off the ground.
Aveline is getting reacquainted with hats, long sleeves, socks and shoes.
She is a tropical baby. She barely knows what these things are.
For the longest time yesterday, she curiously pulled at her sleeves. She looks upward, tilting her head back as far as it will go, trying to understand what a hat is. This morning she kept turning the ties of my hoodie over and over in her little hands.
She laughs when we take her outside and the cooler air hits her face. She laughs, and wriggles and squirms and tries to get down out of our arms.
She can’t wait to walk. Even when she stands on her wobbly legs, she doesn’t stand still. She waves her hands wildly and bounces.
She took her first step the other day. I know she’ll take off soon.
I know she’ll start running and when she does, she is not going to stop.
All I can do is I tie the laces on her teeny-tiny Converse a bit tighter, and hold her hands a bit more loosely.
My baby is ready to run.
Aveline is amazed by the simplest things. I love that. Yesterday she was amazed because I pulled open the blind and let her look out the window. She stood there for the longest time, just taking it all in, softly jabbering away in her tiny (okay, it’s not always tiny) baby voice.
I love her to pieces. I love to scoop her up and kiss her all over her cheeks and forehead until her eyes crinkle shut and she giggles. I love the way her head smells, and the little microscopic curl she gets at the back of her head when she’s sweaty. I love her sticky little hands and her clammy toes.
Yesterday, she stood up all by herself. Josiah and I looked over at her, and there she was, standing up on those fat little legs without holding on to anything. She wasn’t even wobbling, and acted like it was no big deal, like she didn’t even notice. Then she “jumped” up and down in that cute way babies jump — with her knees getting all bendy but her feet staying on the ground — she jumped three or four times before she plopped back down on her soft bum.
My wee girl, standing.
I don’t know where the time has gone.
I do know that her laughter makes the world go round. I know that when she falls asleep in my arms at three in the morning, and I hear her tiny breaths rise and fall in between Josiah’s sleeping breaths, I am so happy my heart could burst. I know that I prayed for her, and I know God answered with a miracle. I know that she is a gift, and I hold her with open hands.
Aveline Alenka, my little babushka baby, I love you more than I can ever tell you.
mothers –
i’ve questioned them. i’ve read their stories. i’ve seen their glimpses.
and now i’m there myself.
is there a way to capture the depth, the intensity of this journey?
there are snapshots.
remnants of our day are scattered on the floor.
different piles of work that keep emerging.
still-lifes he creates with wooden blocks, cans and play cars.
i don’t know how many times the kitchen floor has been sweeped today.
he wakes up at night, seeking our closeness, and goes back to sleep, his breath brushing my neck.
whenever my voice rises in excitement, his little hand pats my shoulder.
he stops his walk to look at my feet standing next to him, walking with him.
yes, it’s dirty, it’s hard, it’s work.
and i’m tired.
but amidst the chaos of it all, i see our tiny everyday adventures,
our rituals growing, our family becoming.
and it’s beautifully wild, delightful, empowering.
just where i want to be.
—
sylvia is a storytelling mama and wife, girl with a camera, maker of stuff, lover of everyday beauty. together with her sister simona, she has a a sisterly art collaboration. they are two artsy ants, an ocean apart, busy making art on their ant hills while caring for their colonies.
they’re passionate about paint on their fingers, lovely design, thrift stores, snapping away, kissing baby feet and skype! visit the anthill on www.artsyants.blogspot.com and their etsy shop on www.etsy.com/shop/artsyants.
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