It is my guess that most of your life you will grow up hearing about the day you were born. About how I was actually in labor when we showed up for my c-section. (The whole time, I thought you were just headbutting my rib cage. Turns out those were actual contractions :).) About how your daddy tried to make me laugh to dispel my nerves, and how Pastor Tim and Debbie came and prayed over us before I was wheeled into the operating room.
About how Daddy held my hand as Dr. Teverbaugh pulled you out, and about how you, content with where you were, kicked her off (you have always known what you wanted, baby girl, even then.)
About how beautiful you were, and how loudly you screamed (so loudly, in fact, that they couldn't even test your hearing for another day).
About the look on your Daddy's face when he held you for the first time--we have a picture of that, thankfully.
You will also see pictures of what we lovingly refer to as "The Running of the Grandparents," when Gramma Rita and Papa and Gramma and Pampah raced down the hall to meet you for the first time.
You were so alert, and so little, and we were so much in love. (We still are, in fact.)
When you get older, you'll probably be able to tell the details of your birth day flawlessly, as though you remember experiencing them yourself. It is a wonderful story, full of love and excitement, but there are others you should know, too. So today, I want to tell you about another day--the day before you were born.
The day before you were born was a chilly, sunny Wednesday. I worked a little from home in my bright red fuzzy robe, alternating between watching The Today Show and listening to the new Selah cd. Chappu fought for a spot on my lap, but of course there was little room to spare--you were taking up most of it, and my laptop was taking what was left.(I think I have a picture of this on my old phone. If you want to see it someday, I'll try and dig it up.) When Daddy got off work that afternoon, we headed out to P & W to finish signing off on our house design--the finalized blueprints bear your birthdate, actually--and then picked up a very unsatisfying dinner from Arby's, mostly because we had coupons and didn't want to cook knowing we wouldn't be home for a few days.
By 9:00, we were both hungry, so we decided to make one last trip out, just the two of us, for a fast food treat. Daddy drove us to the McDonald's on War Memorial and ordered a sandwich for himself and a hot fudge sundae for me. Somewhere between the ordering and the paying, hot, silent tears starting streaming down my cheeks. I tried to wipe them away so your dad wouldn't think I was a complete lunatic (though pregnancy hormones can make you feel that way sometimes), but he saw and asked what was wrong. He took my hand and tears spilled into my ice cream, and I said, "It's just that everything's going to change tomorrow..."
It isn't that I thought the change would be bad, sweet girl. And it isn't that I wasn't excited that you were coming--you had been hoped for and prayed for long before two lines appeared on a pregnancy test one dark February morning. It was that I knew our lives were going to change in profound ways, and sometimes those changes, no matter how much they are borne out of love, can be overwhelming. (I think this is the same reason I started hyperventilating before walking down the aisle to marry your dad.) Your sweet daddy held my hand and told me everything was going to be okay, and he was right.
The next morning, when you were put in my arms for the first time, I was overwhelmed again. By love and gratitude and amazement.
These past four years have been a blessing that I can't even articulate, no matter how I try. They have been exhausting and busy and full of wonder. You have gone from a blinky little newborn to a toddler whose happiest moments revolved around Mercer Mayer book and your green paci, to a little girl who loves ponies and unicorns and makes up songs to soothe your baby sister and "reads" every book you can lay your hands on. (You were "reading" on the way to Gramma's this morning, in fact. When I turned around to look at you, you said, "Mom! I'm reading!" in such an exasperated tone. Such a big girl already....). You have amazed me and overwhelmed me in the best ways.
Things were never the same after you were born, Elaina.
And I wouldn't have it any other way.
