One Year Ago Today

On November 13, 2011, I held my brand new baby girl for the first time. She was tiny but represented something so big to me. I wanted to be everything she needed and I wanted to always know exactly what to do, but I was new at this. I'd never been a mother before, and I was somehow worried that she might be disappointed at my lack of experience.

I tried to nurse her every couple hours, but she was sleepy and I was new. I was impatient with myself and somehow embarrassed. But just when I was feeling particularly flustered, something occurred to me that I'd never thought of before: I was learning to feed her, but she was also learning to eat. I was figuring out how to be a mother and she was figuring out how to be a daughter. And when I realized that Lyla had no idea what I was supposed to be doing either, my anxiety melted away.

Checking into the hospital had been eventful. I had terrible nausea in response to the pain of labor, and the nurse had difficulty inserting my IV. Having the epidural inserted was probably the easiest part of the whole process (which was ironic, since it was the part I most dreaded), but the pain medication—as it is known to do—dropped my blood pressure significantly, and since my blood pressure had been unusually low throughout my pregnancy, I couldn't sit up without blacking out. The nurses were fantastic, though, and quickly took care of the problem. Thankfully, sweet Lyla was completely unfazed by my body's rebellion.

I remember watching the line that represented Lyla's heartbeat on the monitor, still completely in awe of the miracle I was somehow part of. I remember looking at my stretched stomach, trying to imagine what my little girl would look like when she came. I couldn't.

Noon rolled around, and Ryan went downstairs to get some lunch. My doctor had come in to check my progress, but he had also left, sure that I had a long while left to labor. I'd felt comfortable only a few minutes before, but it was suddenly very clear that Lyla was coming soon. I remember pressing the nurse's call button and saying a silent prayer that Ryan would get his lunch to go and that he would be there when Lyla was born.

A few minutes later, Ryan came back carrying a styrofoam container and a blue Powerade. He came quickly to my side. Dr. Jones was washing up, putting scrubs over the shirt and tie he had been wearing to church before my nurses called him to the hospital. Lyla was coming.

A few minutes later the nurse was handing me my sweet girl, teeny tiny and with a head full of dark hair. She was skinny and gray and cried with a healthy set of lungs, turning gradually more pink with every breath. At that moment, all I knew about Lyla was that she was five pounds, 11 ounces, 17 1/2 inches long, a girl, with an adorable button nose and wide eyes. But I already loved her so fiercely and so deeply that I wanted to cry. And I did, just a little bit.

Ryan left with Lyla to see her first bath. I stayed and recovered, tired and happy and full. It took a while for the epidural to wear off, but once it did they put me in a wheelchair and took me down to see my baby. She was one of two in the nursery, laying in her bassinet so sweet and innocent and tired.

Over the next week or so, Lyla and I continued to get acquainted. Family and friends came to visit her and our family settled into our new version of normal.

Photo by Tiffany

Today, that tiny baby has gained 13 pounds, lost and regrown the hair, and grown tall enough to turn off the TV with her tiny pointer finger. She cruises around the house by holding on to the furniture and our legs. She giggles like crazy at certain things and stares stone-faced at others (I still can't figure out what makes something funny to her, but she seems to know).

She knows her mama and melts my heart every time she comes to me with arms outstretched and says "Ma, ma, ma, ma." She has three teeth and a runny nose, which I hope means she will have four teeth soon. She loves the bath. And her parents.

Today and every day since November 13, 2011, I've found comfort in the fact that Lyla and I are learning together. She is patient with me. And though I would have never thought it was possible, my heart has somehow expanded and I love her even more today than I did when she was born.

Happy birthday, Baby Girl. I love you to the moon and back.