there was snow on the ground when you were born, seventeen years ago today. that's not as common in AR as it is up here in the north. the midwives had come and gone over the days since the storm made the waters break. you woke me up in the dark of night and for a few hours, it was just us. i wondered and prayed about being your momma, all the things i didn't even know i didn't know.
later we woke up Dad and called the midwives and by late afternoon, you were with us, blinking your blue eyes. so tiny, so perfect. for two years you were an only child, learning, growing, constantly amazing us with every new skill learned and thought communicated. we sat for hours on that tiny front porch, saying hello to all the cars, all the birds, all the lady bugs.
we woke you up in the middle of the night to introduce you to your new brother. you took him under your tiny wing and taught him all the things you knew. some days you decorated him with Sharpie or your princess dresses, but he never seemed to mind. two more years later, and the two of you met a baby sister. together you three have grown, putting on plays and parades, fighting over things i cannot understand. always growing, learning, becoming who God made you to be.
all of your life you have been an artist. when you were tiny, you would color with both hands at once. when you were six, you asked my favorite color every day, perplexed that i always said purple when yours changed constantly. one day you decided the best color was rainbow! we have watched you grow and wondered how God wants to use those skills. you learned to paint and sculpt and sew and crochet, always inventing new ways to do things.
you have lived in six different houses and a tent at the KOA for a week. you have traveled to multiple states and met interesting people all along the way. from the good and the awful, you have learned and absorbed lessons about the world and about yourself. next year you will go on yet another adventure, spending your senior year learning about cosmetology. more art, more color.
later we woke up Dad and called the midwives and by late afternoon, you were with us, blinking your blue eyes. so tiny, so perfect. for two years you were an only child, learning, growing, constantly amazing us with every new skill learned and thought communicated. we sat for hours on that tiny front porch, saying hello to all the cars, all the birds, all the lady bugs.
we woke you up in the middle of the night to introduce you to your new brother. you took him under your tiny wing and taught him all the things you knew. some days you decorated him with Sharpie or your princess dresses, but he never seemed to mind. two more years later, and the two of you met a baby sister. together you three have grown, putting on plays and parades, fighting over things i cannot understand. always growing, learning, becoming who God made you to be.
all of your life you have been an artist. when you were tiny, you would color with both hands at once. when you were six, you asked my favorite color every day, perplexed that i always said purple when yours changed constantly. one day you decided the best color was rainbow! we have watched you grow and wondered how God wants to use those skills. you learned to paint and sculpt and sew and crochet, always inventing new ways to do things.
you have lived in six different houses and a tent at the KOA for a week. you have traveled to multiple states and met interesting people all along the way. from the good and the awful, you have learned and absorbed lessons about the world and about yourself. next year you will go on yet another adventure, spending your senior year learning about cosmetology. more art, more color.
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