I am not a nervous flier. But. There’s just something about getting on a plane. I like to make sure things are in order ahead of time.
I am fairly certain that anyone reading this blog after my untimely passing would be able to tell how I feel about the people in my life. I think my son and my husband and my best friend would be able to search through here and say “yep, I was loved.”. But something, one thing, is missing.
So, Just In Case:
This baby girl of mine. Well, let me just tell you.
She is a ball of wonderfulness, my baby girl. She is a round squishy solid force of jolly, and her eyes light up and turn down like half moons and she smiles and laughs and giggles and cackles all day long. She’s the only baby I’ve ever seen who laughs while she cries. The happiness just beams out of her, and she smells delicious and she cuddles into me while she nurses and she takes her little hand and wraps it around my finger and I don’t know that I have ever known such a delightful creature.
Every morning she wakes up and smiles at us, and laughs, and then she’ll talk to the ceiling fixture for a good 45 minutes. “Is Katie talking to Boob Light?”, Eli will ask, and then he’ll go in to see her and her eyes will light up and she’ll give her brother a huge gummy smile, and stick her tongue out, and laugh some more.
“She thinks I’m pretty cool!” he’ll exclaim, as he twirls around the room, and her eyes follow him and she laughs and actually, she really does seem to think he’s pretty darn cool.
She’s not a huge baby, I don’t think, but she seems huge to us, and she throws us off guard with all those rolls and folds. She’s the kind of baby you have to give baths to every day. And she really likes to eat, but she hardly ever cries. Instead, when she’s jonesing for more nursing, she’ll let loose with a loud sqwuak; “EH!” EH!”. We laugh, every time.
She loves TV and Britney Spears. When the Britney episode of Glee was on, she rolled over for the first time so she could position herself square in front of the tv, and squealed and churned her little arms and legs ferociously. And laughed.
She loves the cat, and her doll named Big Head Baby, and her crackly dragon named Dinosaur Lady, and plastic spoons. She’ll spend hours yelling at these things, long florid sonnets of love for her favorites. And anything that comes within her grasp is shoved instantly into her mouth, even though we can’t see any teeth. Everyone asks “is she teething? She must be teething?” but so far, nothing.
I’m not sure how I’m going to leave Miss Kate for three whole days. She’s like medicine – at least every 20 minutes I need to smell her or pat her or rub my cheek against that smooth spot on the side of her head.
I was never worried I wouldn’t love my baby girl, that I wouldn’t have enough love. But it’s like the ocean. How if you had only seen a lake you might think it’s the biggest thing there ever was, and still, the ocean is out there, immense. That I lived my life without this baby girl, the best girl, seems unfathomable. She is astonishingly wonderful.
And so, just in case. I wanted to say, to my dear Principessa Katherina, let there please never be any doubt, any at all. Your mother (that’s me) loves you so so so so so very much. It’s a gift, to me, to be your mother in this life.
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