Yesterday, my baby girl turned six months old. I know that’s nothing, in the big scheme of things. But to me? It feels like time’s moving much too fast.
It seems like just yesterday that I was lying in the hospital bed, legs numb, tears flowing down my face because I was too sick to hold her. I can still taste the fear that coated my throat on that terrifying day we brought her home. I can still remember how little she seemed – and how very large she loomed in my world.
Much from those early days has already faded into the mists of memory (humanity’s self preservation mechanism at work). I know I was more exhausted than I’d ever felt, more exhilarated, more scared…more everything. But I can’t bring those feelings back to life.
I remember how thrilled I was the first time she lifted her head. How I cried the first time she smiled. And again the first time she laughed. How excited I was the first time she rolled over – and how Brian looked at me in disbelief when she wouldn’t do it again.
Now she’s sitting up all on her own. She’s eating real food. She’s this close to crawling. She bubbles when all is right with her world, and babbles more and more every day. She’s not my baby bird anymore. She’s becoming her own little person. But no matter how big she gets, she’ll always be my Sunshine.