Poet, I'm not....

Today, Madigan is two and a half.
It's been amazingly fast, and more than anything I could have ever imagined.

A little back story on the post below. I wrote this when Madigan was about 4 months old, in one of those early morning times when it's just you, your baby and a very quiet house. I've had it saved for quite a while, and I'm pretty sure I've never shared it before, because it feels pretty personal to me still.
I can't think of any better time to share than right now. She's growing up, day by day, right in front of me. Before I know it, she'll be a mother herself, and hopefully she finds some joy in those early morning hours, just as I did.
Without further adieu:


As I sit in the stillness of my house, the quiet hours before dawn, I rock my baby and I cry.

Her dreamy eyes, such a vibrant blue, look up at me from nursing, and blink heavily. I think about all the things her life will see; the injustice of the world that I cannot explain, and the beauty of this earth that God created with her in mind. She closes her eyes and drifts to sleep, and I cry.

As I hold her up on my chest, I feel her warm breath on my neck. I rock her to the rhythm of her breathing, slowly, back to sleep as the house sits quiet and dark, and I breathe with her. She lets out a squeak, then a deep sigh, and just breathes. I think about her little voice and I pray that she will use it to speak up for the less fortunate. I pray that some day, she will use her voice to help others in need, and soothe the souls of those who hurt. I think about her voice and the changes she can make with only her words, and I cry.

Her tiny hand grasps my finger and squeezes it tight. I squeeze her back, needing her more than she needs me, I think. I dream about the days, not too far from now, when that tiny hand will let go of mine and swing through the air during her first steps. Some day, that tiny hand will hold the hand of a young man; it will wear a wedding band, it will hold my grandchildren. I ask God to use her hands, so tiny and perfect, to touch the lives of others with a positive influence. I hope that she will know the most effective way to use her hands is to fold them in prayer. She lets my finger slip from her hand, and I cry.

I feel the weight of her tiny body in my arms, so small but so perfect. Her little body is so wonderful in every way, so soft, and so thoroughly her own. I hope she learns to love her body for its awesome ability to move and to do. I want her to have confidence in her physical appearance, to be blind to the images imposed on her from society. I pray she makes wise choices regarding her body and her health. Her tiny body lays warm against my arms, and I cry.

My tears are a mixture of love and sorrow. Love for my daughter, for my family, and for my God who has given this all to me, despite the fact I feel so undeserving of this. Sorrow for those who cannot experience this, who struggle with the ability to reach motherhood despite all the medical efforts and prayer and tears of their own. And as I lay her gently down in her crib, I see a fleeting smile cross her beautiful lips. I see her smile in her sleep, I think of the greatness which she is capable of, and I smile too.



Happy two and a half, Miss M. You're still as marvelous as ever.
<3