Priceless

I had one of those moments today when I looked across the room and there was this little person cruising around holding onto furniture as she circled the living room and it took me just the briefest second to remember that she is mine. This tiny little girl with fuzzy brown hair and sparkling blue eyes is my daughter. The last 20 months have been a sort of surreal flurry of days filled with morning sickness and a growing belly. Then her birthday and diapers and sleepless nights and getting to know each other. Now we share days filled with new skills and smiles and pink sweetness. I sometimes have this strange feeling of disbelief that I have a baby mixed with a keen sense that I've known her forever. There have been moments of me wondering if I'm absolutely crazy for having another baby when I was 36. There have been moments of extreme happiness that I did. But there has not been one moment, not a single one, of regret. This little girl has brought so much to our family. She has made me a better mom. She has brought out the best in the boys and proven, just as I suspected, that they are great big brothers. She has softened her daddy's heart as only little girls can do. And she has captured the hearts of all who know her.

As amazing as it was to have Josh and then Adam, it's different somehow with Julianna. I'm not sure if it's because she's a girl or because I have almost 10 years of mommy experience or because I'm older this time and just more comfortable with the whole thing. I just don't know. But I do know this. God was right. (As if I needed proof.) He led me to this moment in my life as he has done so many times before. He put Julianna in my heart. Then he made her real. This little person, this little pink person, was meant to be here. And meant to be mine.

Last Sunday at church, she fell asleep on my lap with her head on my chest. She rarely falls asleep at church anymore even though it's right in the middle of her nap time. She's afraid she might miss something. She's nosey, I mean curious, like her mom. So I was surprised that her eyes closed and then stayed closed. I sat there looking down, awed by her sweet little face. And then this memory flooded into my mind from a year ago when I was pregnant with her. I remember sitting in church in the very same spot staring down at my bulging belly watching for an elbow or tiny foot to make it's way across under my shirt. I always loved watching my babies move in my belly. As I sat there thinking how quickly the last year has flown, I sighed with the knowledge that the next years will go just as fast. Josh and Adam, sitting on either side of me, were proof of that. So there I sat, with my daughter snuggled in my arms and my sons at my sides, treasuring the seconds, knowing all too well how fleeting they are.

So. Am I crazy for having another baby at 36, seven years after my last one? The answer is yes...and no. I am a little crazy, but it has little to do with my children and when they were born. But no, because this surreal part of my life is like a Picasso painting. It looks a little strange at first, but in the end, it's priceless.