Six years ago today, you came into my life, arriving quickly and quietly around 7:10 a.m. The nurses and doctors had to scramble to make it into the room for your birth — you had no intention of waiting around for them. When you met the world, the room hushed as we took in your breathtaking beauty.
When the doctor laid you in my arms for the first time, it was as if I had been waiting a lifetime to hold you. I wanted to memorize every detail of your sweet little lips, tiny ears, long eyelashes and elegant fingers. But our first greeting ended much too soon as they whisked you away to the NICU. That night my empty arms ached to hold you.
For 56 days, I came to visit you in the hospital, leaving each evening without you. For 56 nights, I lay in bed, awake, anxiously wishing for morning to come quickly so that I could see you again. Some nights I couldn’t wait until morning, so I got up and drove to you as fast as I could, sighing with relief when you were back in my arms again. Rocking you amongst the beeps and chirps of the monitors, I felt whole again.
Today, the NICU is a distant memory, but my arms still have that same ache to hold you. Sometimes, I wake up in the middle of the night with that familiar longing. I slip quietly into your bedroom down the hall and lift you gently into my arms. Stroking your hair and breathing in your sweet baby breath as you peacefully sleep, my soul fills up to the point of overflowing.
Happy birthday, Ruby. Thank you for blessing my life in so many ways these past six years.
Love always and forever,