Sweet MG, today is the day that was your due date. Though we knew all along you wouldn't be waiting this long to meet the world, it still feels meaningful that this was the day my doctor named as "your" day all the way back in January when we first saw you as a tiny little bean with a flickering heartbeat that made me cry crocodile tears of relief. Instead of my belly, you're out and growing and one week and five days old already. You're snuggled beside me, tummy full of milk, in your pink knit hat, your pipsqueak mouse onesie, your grey leggings. Wrapped snug in your little birdie blanket, not a care in the world. You're making your little Mabel sounds, soft whines followed by contented sighs as you drift in and out of sleep. We're snuggled up, you and me, in the final days of our cabin stay on this chilly fall afternoon as the rain pours onto the lake and the wind blows just-changed leaves down to the grass and it's all just so picture perfect that I can't imagine you NOT being here with me to enjoy it. I'm glad you're an early bird, little girl, because that's a week and five days we might not otherwise have had together. And every day is treasured, because I know I'm going to blink and we're going to be packing away baby things forever, planning your first birthday party and wondering where our time has gone.
It's different, this third and final time with a newborn. We know you're our last, and while that occasionally makes me weepy and sends a bit of panic through my heart, it also makes these precious weeks that much more special. We're up at night, and of course we're tired, but those are our quiet hours together, little one. To feed you and snuggle you close and fall asleep to your little baby breaths uninterrupted by spilled milk disasters or screechy sibling spats or me fumbling with the remote to restart Caillou before anyone freaks their freak. I'm calmer, I worry less, I know what I'm doing and don't question my instincts. We're savoring it - each sleepy smile, each silly expression, each adorable outfit that hangs three inches off your feet because you're so much tinier than we expected. Pipsqueak, indeed, Miss MG.
And Mabel, you couldn't be any more the quintessential third child. You're calm, you're quiet, you're resigned to patience. You seem to understand that I'm doing the best I can - pouring cereal and choking down my vitamins and scrolling through the DVR for an acceptable recording of Sesame Street as I shake up your bottle, and though I know you're hungry, you rarely make an issue of these waits. You're good to your mommy so far that way, MG, and for that, I'm more grateful than you'll ever know. Sometimes, I swear you're fake sleeping. You know the other two have me running, you hear the chaos, and you just don't want to deal. I'm onto you. I'd do the same sometimes, if I could. You've made moving from two babies to three babies a far easier transition than I was prepared for. You even let me shower! And blow dry my hair! And change my outfit five times until I find the one that makes me look the least like I'm 30 pounds heavier than I want to be! You're a good girl, Mabs, and I love you SO much more than I even knew I could. I worried deep down, as expectant parents do, that there wouldn't be enough love to go around. I knew it was silly, I knew firsthand how it felt to add child #2 to the family, how my heart just grew the moment your sister cried out in the operating room, how those worries were unfounded. But still, I worried a bit, so big the leap from two to three seemed before ..... and it was all for naught once more. Because you're so, so loved. And not just by me. By your brother, who runs from his room in the morning with his beloved blankie in hand, and wraps it around you with care and pats your tummy and tells you you're "soooooo cute". And by your sister, who talks to you like you're going to talk back and wants to hold your bottles to your mouth and if she hasn't seen you for two minutes will look around with alarm and yell in her outdoor voice (aka, her only voice) "WHERE'S MY BABY?" And don't get me started on daddy. If you could talk, and ask him for a thing, ANY thing, it would be yours. A pony, a car, the moon.
So happy due date, Mabel Gray. Feel free to take your time growing up, if you would. I'm fine with being tired, with dark under-eyes, with washing bottles and washing them again, and even with those thirty extra pounds (for now) .... because it all means we have you, that we're complete, that the family I dreamed of is mine. We are completely, ridiculously blessed.
hi! welcome to my blog, where i write about our life in durango, colorado. mostly i write about being a sahm to our three: anderson, vivian, and the newest addition, mabel gray (mg, mabes, etc.) yeah, three babies in just under four years. wheeeeeee! sometimes i write about stuff other than the mom stuff. like ... um ... okay, it's pretty much all about the mommyness up in here. i own it.