The First Girl

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!

About Julie

A happy wife, a mom on the learning curve, a daughter of the King . . .
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