I will never watch the Golden Globes again without thinking about the night before your birth. That night was a memorable one, for I remember vividly my anxiousness, fears, and worries as I matched your daddy's socks and tried to settle down for one last normal night before I knew my normal was about to be disrupted. I don't remember feeling as much of that before having Cruz, but I think it's because I had no idea what to expect before giving birth to him. I was so excited to meet you, so excited to have a daughter, but at the same time, unsure how I could possibly stretch my heart to be the mom I wanted to be to both you and your brother. I longed for a normal Sunday night, full of normal things like the Golden Globe Awards, and instead, felt as if I was walking in this alternate universe, preparing my heart and mind for a day I would never experience again. Your birth day.
When I look back at that day, it was truly one of the most peaceful and beautiful days of my life. I felt God's presence the entire day, in the faces of those angels of nurses that became like family, in the easy going, relatively pain-free labor, in the wonderful epidural that allowed me to feel so in control of things, and in a well-paced progression that really went like clockwork. A nurse who very quickly became so much more than that during Cruz's birth, also became part of yours, and took pictures, cheered me along, and was one of the first faces to welcome you to this world. You were born right after the nurses' shift ended, and we had quite the party of people there to love on you and celebrate your arrival. We drank pink champagne, passed you around, and couldn't get over your pierced little pouty lips and dainty features. Uncle Taylor thought you were so cute, and your daddy rocked you late into the night singing you "Souls Like the Wheels." And just as God was completely in control the day of your birth, I realize now that He is also the beat of our heart, for only He is capable of allowing us to love the way I so seamlessly fell in love with you that day. The connection I felt with you from the moment I laid eyes on you was so profound, and something that has only grown bigger these last two years.
Now, our new normal includes a little wispy-haired girl with a big personality and a big smile. A little girl who talks up a storm and acts older than two most days. A little girl who still falls asleep to The Avett Brothers' album, The Second Gleam, nearly every night, and has never made it past Souls Like the Wheels, the same song you listened to the night you were born. A little girl who holds her precious blankies up by her nose and finds it a complete crisis when she finds them in the washing machine. A little girl who is rarely seen without a baby doll up by her shoulder, who loves my perfume, and believes chap stick and lip gloss are moisturizers for your entire face, well, everywhere except the lips. A little girl who sleeps like a teenager in her crib, yells our names in the morning, and always pats our back when we pick her up and plant a kiss on her cheek. You, little girl, turned our normal into a world with a little more zest, a lot more pink, and more joy than we ever dreamed possible. And while I do miss those baby days so much, those cold January days when I'd turn the heat up in the house, dress you in little booties, and snuggle you in next to Cruz and I for a long afternoon nap, I have a feeling you are going to do two very well. Looking forward to spoiling you with little surprises the next few days, singing you the birthday song, and celebrating all the joy you bring to this world. Happy birth day, Mila Moo - we love you more than you'll ever know.
Now I'm off to go and blow up 15 pink and purple balloons for your bedroom floor tomorrow. You love your balloons and will be quite surprised to see a sea of them when you wake up. :)