It seems just like yesterday that my husband and I brought home our sweet little girl from the hospital. I can still remember the way he had held her up to me, looking so proud. She was cocooned in a bright little baby blanket, snuggled in the crook of his arm. Only her delicate little face showing and her daddy’s giant hand resting protectively over her. She was a keeper, but again, I am biased…
Our little newborn
Unlike a lot of people, parenthood was not a question for us. We didn’t plan it, but we really didn’t prevent it either. I had miscarried before, and had plenty of trouble carrying the tiny little girl cuddled in her daddy’s arms. So she really seemed like a blessing. But there she was tiny, beautiful and healthy. Our little gift from God.
I was lucky, my husband was a very dedicated father. He shared equally in the parenting. I swear they didn’t learn to walk before the age of two because he wouldn’t put them down. In fact once we were at my parents’ house and we heard a baby give a cry. My mom and I watched my husband rush past us to the crib, there he stood posed with his hands set to grab up the tiny little girl. Slowly he put his hands down and walked sheepishly back past us empty handed. The cry had come from the television… We picked on him about it, but it was one of those things that really made my mom like him.
Over the course of a few more years, we had two more miscarriages, but were blessed with two more beautiful, healthy little girls. My husband had really wanted a boy, but he adored his little girls and they thought the sun rose and set on him. He would get down on all fours and all three little girls would climb on for a “horsey ride”. Wrestling matches in the house were expected, tickling sessions were routine, and the girls thrived. Days were filled with bare feet, puppies and ponies.
We didn’t have a lot of money, but our girls were central to our world.; especially when they were young. We didn’t leave them with sitters very often; mostly because of our rule. If we couldn’t afford to make a special night for the girls (preference was pizza/wings and a movie) and go out – then we couldn’t afford to go out at all. So our nights out, were almost always nights in with the girls.
Oh, the years have flown. I watched my little girl walk down the aisle to pick up her graduation diploma and I cannot figure out when she turned into a young lady. As I brush at my husband’s graying hair and look in the mirror and see the fine wrinkles, I can see signs of aging but I don’t know when it happened. Before me, where a tiny little girl used to stand with her arms raised to be picked up, now stands a beautiful young woman – tall and independent.
When did it happen? When did my baby grow up?
