My sweet Emilia. You are about to hit a major milestone. Your
first birthday is upon us and it amazes me just how quickly this year
has passed. Your birth was a momentous event for both your dad and
me. One year ago today, I was sitting here contemplating what was
about to happen. I would go into the doctor's office in the morning
and do yet another Non-stress test and Biophysical Profile. I hoped
you were still doing well and I could continue my pregnancy until you
decided it was time to come out. I wanted the best for you, right
from the moment I saw those two pink lines. So when I went in for my
appointment and my blood pressure was raised and your amniotic fluid
was too low, I knew that the best thing for you would be to put
myself under the knife again to ensure your safe arrival into this world.
Daddy and I waited patiently to be called into the Operating Room,
me sitting in my hospital bed hooked up to wires, listening to your
heart beating on the monitor and watching you try to kick the
receivers off. You kept rolling away from them, so the nurse had to
keep moving them. Every time we stopped hearing your heart, Daddy got
nervous. But I knew your secret. I knew you were just trying to move
around without being constricted. Even then, you didn't want to be
held down.
A few hours later, I was in recovery and they brought you in.
Daddy was the one who handed you to me. My arms can still feel how
light you were, how delicate and soft beneath your blanket. Your sweet newborn skin still cloaked with the scent of the warm fluid you bathed in for 9 months.You
looked exactly like Daddy. You even had his hair line. You gazed up
at me, locked in, refusing to look away. It was at that moment that I
truly fell in love. I knew you, and you knew me. I put you to my
breast and you latched on like a champ. Our mother-daughter dance had
begun, and it still continues now, almost a year later.
You don't know how long I've waited for you, how much I have done to keep you safe, how much you mean to
me, how much I love you. You have taught me so many things, my
darling baby girl. While you have learned to feed yourself, I have
had to learn to let you decide for yourself what you are ready for
and what you do and don't like. While you have learned to roll over,
to crawl, to stand up, to cruise, and when you took your first steps,
those were the moments that I had to slowly practice letting go. Even
now at almost a year old, you're teaching me to let you explore your
own limits, to not set them myself, but let you decide how much you
can handle. It's nerve-wracking, harrowing, yet liberating and
exciting all at the same time.
I promised you a year ago that I would always be there for you. I
promised that even if I can't fix it, I will hold you, help you, and
love you through it. I have kept my promise. You have never cried
yourself to sleep. You have always had me to hold you when you're
hurt or sick. I know this promise will get more difficult to keep as
the years go on, especially when you're a teen and suffering from
your first broken heart. But I promise that when that day comes,
we'll grab some Ben & Jerry's, some sappy girly movies, and some
nail polish...and I will hold you, and help you, and love you through
it.
Something else I promise, and this will never change, no matter
what: I will teach you to think for yourself. I will not push my own
feelings and beliefs on you. I will not make you be who I think you
should be, but I will push you to be who you KNOW you are and I will
support you in the choices you make for yourself. If, after examining
all evidence, you decide that you feel differently than I do about
something, I will not force you to subscribe to something you simply
can't. You are not an extension of me. You are your own person, who
just happened to come from my body.
I will always support you. I will always encourage you. I will try
my best to help you achieve your goals and dreams. You may far
surpass me in your life, and I hope for that with all I have in me. I hope your achievements leave mine in the dust. I
hope for you to do great things, as long as they are the things you
want to do.
You are my baby bird and teaching you to fly is my job. I promise
to never keep you on the ground.
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