When my daughter sleeps . . . .

Since my daughter was born seven months ago, I have had it in the back of my mind that I should create a journal for her. Not the generic, fill in the blank type of journal or baby book, but a true journal; filled with all the trivial little details of our daily life together. I have all these profoundly deep feelings about my love for her, my joy in seeing her simplest shows of delight, and this magnetic bond I feel with my own flesh and blood. I used to be one of those women who felt that if they were never to have children, it wouldn't really matter. I didn't really have any grand desire to put myself on the back burner while I gave my child the world . . . I had no idea what I would have been missing.

A few days after we brought Isabelle home from the hospital, I was sitting on our bed with her in my arms. And I sat there and cried and cried. I simply felt overwhelmed. Not by the responsibility of taking care of an infant but by the sheer force of the love that I felt for this little person that I hardly knew. Maybe I was naive but I just did not expect to feel this way. I had no idea how much I was going to love her . . . everything about her in fact. My Belle is the tiniest little thing, weighing just over 15 pounds. She may be "petite", as her pediatrician assures me, but she is such a huge presence in every room we enter. Maybe it is the sparkle in her blue-gray eyes, or the smile she flashes constantly. Maybe it is the deep belly laugh that she gives her dad when he slides her around on the bed or the soft, constant chatter she strings along all day. Maybe it is all of these things that have me completely enamoured with her.

Sometimes her cooing is so soft you can barely here her, it is like a secret she wishes only to share with me . . . and then there is the way she wraps her tiny legs around my waist, letting her head drop down onto my shoulder when she is tired, a motion that carries with it all the confidence in the world that in my arms, the world is at peace. I am so blessed that Isabelle is a cuddly spirit, completely gentle in soul. When other babies her age are struggling to free themselves from the parental grasp, I have Isabelle who loves nothing more than to be wrapped in loving arms and held tight as night falls. Even in her sleep, I've noticed that she will wriggle her way as close to me as possible, stopping only when I have wrapped an arm around her or placed her hand in mine. It swells my heart to be so close with someone so wonderfully perfect, humbles me the way she gives me all of her trust and seeks out the comfort of my hold, my presence when the odd tear does fall. What a miracle of parenthood.

I heard her stir in her crib tonight and went over to check on her . . . was she hungry, too warm? Just dreaming. I went to tuck her sheets back in and looked down at this tiny, little body lying fast asleep and I wished that I could hold her in my arms forever . . . wished that there were enough words to convey to her the great depths of this love that I have for her and I wondered did God send me for her or did He, in His wisdom, send her to me?