It's been three weeks since we laid on the guest room bed and napped together for the first time. Your legs hugged mine while your gaze danced between my eyes and your hands, by which you had recently become so fascinated. We talked -- you with your varying intonation of vowels and me with questions of how much you enjoyed our trip to visit my co-workers that morning. I carried on as if we were engaged in the same conversation, and I laughed that you were obviously babbling about the wonder of fingers while I gushed about how irresistibly cute you are. The sun gently shone through the closed blinds, and the sounds of the neighborhood were soft and calm. As time passed, words became quieter; eyelids became heavier. We napped for three hours, but what you don't know is that I woke up twice. I stared at you and took note of all your baby-ness before drifting off to sleep again.
I want you to know that I didn't know it then, but I know now that it was a special day. That afternoon with you gave me so much comfort after several weeks of trying to figure out how to be a good full-time working mom and how to love you and be loved by you as much as your dad who spends all day with you -- who gets to be your greatest influence right now, your first love. I hope you felt just as comforted by me. As you grow up, I want you to know that no matter how busy I am or how old we become or how many times we disagree (which will be never, because you'll always listen to your mama, right?), you are my greatest treasure and accomplishment.
Know that. Always.