Some nights she needs me five separate times, crying until I bring her close to me, cuddling her in the darkness and filling her body with God gifted comfort. Other nights, when my expectations are low, she'll sleep nine hours straight and give me the exact refreshing that God knows my tired heart needs.
She is outgrowing clothes quicker than I can keep up, and as I folded individual pieces, she crawled (wounded army style, still) over to the bin I was working with and stood herself up, like it was old hat. Each milestone is a gift. Each shirt that no longer fits is a treasure. The gift of life, growth, and breath. Gifts not every baby is given.
She says "baby" lately, practicing already mothering bunnies and humans alike, with a bunny that I had when I was younger as a particular favorite. We're thankful, ever thankful, to parent this bright eyed girl.
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