November 4

I wrote this on little bits of paper on November 4th. I was just going to put it in her baby book but thought I'd type it out more legibly first. It's taken me awhile. I'm afraid the bits of paper will go missing soon so I'd best get it typed out.

Dear Abigail,

So here it is, your first birthday. Wow. I don't know how I'm supposed to make it through this without crying. And so I won't. I will cry. And we will lay here on the couch together. The cleaning can wait. You sleep and I will cry. This is one of my favorite things in the world - you asleep on my chest. The first 6 months of your life you had every single one of your morning naps here. Now you don't let me do this as much anymore. You sleep better in bed. I miss it. There are many nights when I can't sleep that I desperately just want to snatch you and cuddle with you on the couch.

I love you, Abigail. Sometimes I wonder where this love was before you came into my life. Was it just laying there latent, waiting for you to come along to cause it to explode?

I love to watch you sleep. I know this nap won't be as long as it would have been had you slept in bed. But so be it. I couldn't help myself. Not today.

I love to look at your long, dark eyelashes brushed up on your cheek.

I love the way you clutch your pink bear with your arm.

I love your hair. I'm sure the day will come when we both curse those curls. But for right now, I love them. When you nap they get sweaty and stick out in awkward directions which helps you continue to look like a baby instead of the toddler you are becoming.

I love to listen to you breathing. I know the rhythm of your breath. It is comfortable and familiar.

I love watching you practicing to walk. You seem so immensely pleased with yourself.

I love to watch you discovering things. How to roll over. How to open a door. How to stand on your own. How to make me laugh. I hope you love to discover things your whole life.

I love the way you point at things. It goes well with your love of discovery. With every point it seems there is an exclamation mark attached. Like in your head you're saying "Whoa! Look at that! I've never noticed that before!"

I love your sense of wonder. When we went on our trip this summer we could hand you the most mundane thing to play with (a film canister, a pill bottle filled with rocks, a pop bottle... anything) and you would grin back at us with a beaming smile that suggested we had just given you the world. "Really? For me?!" Please, my dear girl, keep that sense of wonder for the rest of your days. Please. It's on my list of things I want most for you.

I love to watch you with your papa. I love the way the two of you make each other laugh. I love the adoration you have for each other. I loved your father before you were here but seeing you two together has increased that love a hundred fold.

I wonder about you and who you will become. I look forward to seeing you grow up and develop your own individuality. But not right now. For now, just stay one. And sleep. Curled gently in the curve of my neck.

Your mama.