Where’s all the crafty stuff? And what’s taking so long to post? I know. Everything has been neglected lately. This blog. My sewing (I so, so long to sew). My house. Ugh, the stuff is piling everywhere. But I keep reminding myself that this will pass. Not soon enough, and altogether too quickly at the same time. So I am just breathing it all in and taking everything one hour at a time. Which is so very not me. That’s one gift children give you – they make you grow up, slow down, and in the process you become a better version of yourself.
Today is – well, just another day to take in but also a day to celebrate and cry about at the same time. Some of you have been here long enough to know – it’s her birthday. In fact, life has been such a chaotic, monotonous litany of baby chores around here that I’d forgotten we were even into December, much less this close to our birthdays. Which is why I cried as soon as a friend called and left a message about a gift she wanted to give me tomorrow. Over the years, I have learned to celebrate my birthday without her. But I still wince a little bit at the pain of it. And as I look at my secondborn daughter today, I can’t help but be sad for my parents today.
If it seems like I’m talking about Lora a lot these days its because whenever my life changes (and it’s changed a lot this year), I am always painfully aware of all the places she isn’t anymore. And at the same time, I find her everywhere. Especially now. E. is quickly becoming every bit the big sister I imagined she’d be. In fact, most days relishes the role – telling us to please be quiet because the baby is sleeping, hovering over friends who get too close to her infant carrier, and being the first to scamper for the pacifier when A. wakes up crying. The other day E. marveled over A.’s little fingers, and I had to smile. I vividly – vividly – remember doing this as a four year old. Why I thought to do this I still don’t know, but I remember holding Lora’s hand and looking at how tiny her fingers were and thinking to myself, "remember this" because I knew she would be bigger someday. Anyway, Lora isn’t physically here. But moments like those bring her back to me for a few minutes. And I say a silent prayer for the greatest birthday gift I ever received.
Philippians 1:3 "I thank my God every time I remember you."
Happy Birthday, Lora.