Six months.
Six months of pure joy and love.
Six months that followed nine months of holding my breath and unceasing prayer because I had never been pregnant before in a pandemic. I had never sat in ultrasound rooms by myself, your daddy not allowed in, masked up waiting to see you and to hear your precious heartbeat. I had never had to pray for strength each time I entered those doors, remembering that twice the year before I had laid on that same table and heard silence so loud and roaring that it is forever engrained in my heart.
But we survived those nine months, you and I. And here we are, six months later.
Sometimes, I catch a glimpse of you - your non stop smile and giant, engaged eyes - and still feel like someone has to pinch me. That all this happiness and joy just simply couldn't be real. Other times, I kiss your little, wiggly head when you wake in the morning, or rub your back as you fall asleep on my shoulder and I am so overcome by thankfulness, it knocks me to my knees. I spent so much of your pregnancy literally on my knees praying for you - for each milestone and trimester. Praying for protection and growth and just in whispered breaths "Please let him live."
Now that you are here, I still feel called to prayer. Often just giving thanks on a loop - thank God for you, for your health, for all the happiness you bring us.
And, oh, what happiness you bring us.
We knew, our precious rainbow baby, that you would bring us joy. We had no idea how much. Though KK may get mad when I say it, it still remains true - you are the best baby ever.
Already so patient, you take your fourth baby title with stride. You love everyone who even just speaks to you and share your gummy smile with anyone who wants it. You are love and happiness and innocence all rolled up in chunky thighs.
Six months. And they couldn't have been any sweeter.
