Birthday tears

For the second consecutive year, I surprised myself by being all emotional about my daughter's birthday. It's a birthday! It's a happy time! It's a time to celebrate! Or if you are me, it's a time to get choked up at every "exactly two years ago this minute..." thought that flutters through your mind up to the moment of birth, as well as the hours beyond it. It's a time to tear up saying, "Good morning, Ava! Happy birthday to you!" because you remember as you say it just how exhausted, determined, and fighting you were exactly two years earlier, making every conceivable effort to meet this tiny person inside your body for all those months. You remember how precious the first sight of her was at 9:52 a.m., how amazed you were at what your own body could produce, how incredible knowing that she had come into this world both of you and through you. You remember the exciting dawning that happened when they finally got you to understand it was a GIRL...you had a daughter. You remember her sweet newborn breath gently tickling your neck in the wee hours of the morning, how instantly in love with her you were. You remember the little O her mouth made when she first learned to coo and crow, how addictive her laughter was, how excited she seemed to see you after a few hours away, even as a little baby. You remember how mad she got being on her tummy, how happy she was to jump, how hard it was to leave her to go to work. You think of her smile, her laughter, her sense of humor and how it's evolved. You consider the complexity of her mind and how she's changed intellectually in such a short two years. You remember the day you knew she knew you were Mama, and the day she called you Mama for the first time. You think of tickling, and reading, and hugging, and laughing, and loving in ways you never thought would stir you as they do. You think of kisses, slobbery and sweet. You remember stuffy noses and scary fevers and poop...lots and lots of newborn poop. You think of lanugo and soft newborn skin, of tiny, tiny tortellini-shaped socks fresh from the dryer. You cherish the time spent together, even if it was months of walking all over everywhere bending over and letting her hold your fingers so she could walk confidently anywhere she wanted to go. You hear the crying of those fussy months with a patient, loving filter now. You think of your excitement when that first tooth appeared, and the next, and the next. You remember how your finger would feel funny numbness after applying the teething medicine frequently. You think of your tantrum-ridden, screaming toddler and know that it means she is growing up and apart from you. You miss the tiny baby and love the toddler and look forward to finding out what's to come, to watching your little one grow into the person she's becoming. You are so happy to celebrate her life that you can't help but well up with tears of joy. If you're me.

Happy birthday, sweet baby! I have loved you every day, and I always will.