As I leaned against the door well of the car, a glass of cold white wine in my hand, in the midst of Thanksgiving’s dusk, I truly felt so honestly thankful. I stood there, in the cold, for almost an hour, just watching my daughter nap ever so sweetly in her car seat. She was perfect. Every little thing about her was perfect–her precious toddler body wrapped up in layers, nustled into her new pink snow suit; her calm, raspy breathing occasionally mixed with dream-giggles and whimpers through her slightly parted lips; her beautiful, soft, feminine face that is just between a baby’s and a little girl’s.
I never allow myself to fully feel these moments–not around other people. I become too flooded with emotion. She is a miracle. And not because of any trauma or fertility problems or etc. We’ve had none. We’ve been so incredibly lucky my husband and I. Our daughter’s miraculousness is just something that I know and understand. I’m so immensely blessed to have her.
Here’s my daughter, Fae, on Thanksgiving.
Fae is on my lap, nap-nursing, and our kitty is snuggled up to her back in a patch of rich golden sun.