Hard to know where to begin, so I'll begin here I guess. I'm sitting at my desk in my sweats with a half cup of lukewarm coffee (we're out of half+half and although I used to take my coffee black, now I just don't like it much without cream). Headphones are on because the boys are running around like maniacs playing frisbee puppies or something behind me and turning on music to drown out the din only makes them up their volume. It's still pretty darn cold outside this morning but I should probably send them out anyway because they're jumping from couch to the coffee table to the floor and throwing ninja turtle themed paper plates at each other and me and good thing we don't have any trinkets. And I think someone is crying but I can just barely hear it and I'm not turning around. {But I kid, because I did turn around, and leave my desk and pull out the finger puppets and blocks and now, although I can almost hear Owen singing a song that goes something like Mom is a bingy boo on repeat, they are being a little calmer and no one is dying while I write.
Yesterday was Maisy's four month well visit at the doctor. (One of those times when I didn't even have the appointment scheduled until a few days ago when I thought whoops I better get on that.) My mom stayed with the boys at the library so that we could have a distraction-free checkup, and a sweet little date it turned out to be. In the waiting room Maisy nursed and drifted off to sleep; five minutes later she had to be undressed but did not mind one bit, just opened her eyes and smiled and didn't fuss once through all the weighing and measuring. (14 pounds, 2 ounces! 24 3/4 inches.) While we waited for the doctor I read Maisy part of a book until she tired of it; then I just sat her on my lap facing toward me and we chit chatted and I admired how fat she is. A little chubster this one is turning into!
Three pokes for immunizations and poor girl cried a little but not too much, and after that it was like nothing bad ever happened. Later on at home she was laying on a blanket on the floor in the sun room, just kicking her legs and smiling at me without a care in the world. And in one moment looking at my baby girl I can go through this whole crazy roller coaster of emotions (like the old wooden cyclone when I rode it with my bestie in sixth grade and we almost died kind of roller coaster of emotions) that goes something along the lines of ohmygoodness you are SO sweet and precious and perfect i just can't even believe it... and then a sledgehammer slams me in the chest with a choke that contains no words at first, only a scream at the top of my lungs inside my head, and then turns into oh, you are so perfect EXCEPT for your hand! so beautiful I can't stand it, a face so full of potential I know you can do ANYTHING, but oh no, will your poor little paw hold you back? you will have to explain so many times. you are going to hate me because this must have been my fault. a baby with a pinched off nub for a hand! are you kidding me, God? that is just not right, it is so sad that it's cruel. another choking scream and then, partly out loud and part only in my mind... I will ALWAYS be here for you, Maisy girl. I will be your BEST friend whether you need me to be or not and even if everything IS terrible I won't just be a shoulder for you to cry on I will be there sobbing with you and when everything is awesome I will be awed and always let you know that you are amazing, just who you are, my love. I will always talk to you and be real with you and let you know that I know: it SUCKS so. bad. but also it's no big deal. And then, somewhere in the midst of this whole internal dialogue I realize that my daughter is still just staring at me and smiling and kicking away and chewing and drooling on her little paw, content to be who and where she is. And although I can't quite read her thoughts, I almost feel like I can and she is saying so clearly: "It's a good day to be alive, mom!" And the Cyclone screeches to a halt and I realize: You are so right, my Maisy girl, this IS a good day to be alive. You are who you are, hand or no hand. And I can see already that you are one awesome person. Yes, it might still feel like the worst at times, but you will handle it; we will handle it; God can handle it. I could name all of the things you "might not be" because you're missing five digits but honestly I think the number of fingers on your hands has little to do with where life will lead you. I have all ten of mine and still I'm no concert pianist, no tennis champion, nothing special really. But I'm your mom, and I love you with all my heart. And you are you, and you need not do anything more to make me love you more, because already: my cup runneth over, my dear. It's so good to be alive with you.
Shall we have some more photos of little four month old Maisy now? Yes, we shall.
Case in point on the chubsters, below. This here's a little shirt and hat that were mine when I was a baby but I kinda missed the boat about putting it on Maisy because when I finally did her chunky belly and cheeks pretty much exploded out of it.
And... a little impromptu four month photo shoot because the light was pretty and we weren't doing anything and Maisy was super cute (as always) and wearing a sweater knitted for me by my mom when I was a baby, and if that's not a recipe for a photo shoot I don't know what is.
