In the middle of a month, in the middle of the year–she came. My first girl.
It was just the two of us, mother and daughter, in those few days before she unfurled–me, swollen and heavy . . . her, curled deep, waiting. Her daddy and brother were hours away, celebrating a wedding.
So we two wandered the sidewalks together under July sun–two women in a singular form–one walking and one waiting to be born.
“Fifteen years–it’s flown by, hasn’t it?” The question of a friend.
Well, yes . . . and no–honest peeling back of the layers of my heart and I can say that there were times when I struggled hard to be her mother. Many days, my tears ran hot as her emotions by the time I closed her door at night.
She “evened out” as she grew and I figured out some of my own techniques–how to love her, how to capture the moments when she was brave enough to lay her heart bare.
Now she is lovely and I miss her–she’s at camp today. The angst of those early years has been (mostly) replaced with great joy in knowing her as a beautiful young woman.
Fifteen years ago today, it was the eve of her birth. She came the next morning, when the mercies were new, and oh, how I have needed His fresh mercy day after day as I’ve been made into a mother.
Happy Birthday, beautiful Emma . . . my daughter, my joy!