Two years ago at this time I was just hanging out, being pregnant. I wasn’t due for a couple more weeks so I had no clue that I was actually in my last few hours as a mother of two. Had I known this, I might have used those hours a little differently – catching up laundry, sleeping, finishing the crocheted dress that she was supposed to wear on her birthday. I had no idea that I would be in labor in just a few hours and, judging by the length of my labor with Colt, I certainly had no idea that The Girl would be in my arms before morning.
All moms treasure that photo that was snapped in the delivery room the very first moment their baby was placed in their arms. They are at their worst in that photo: no makeup, exhausted, sweaty, disheveled, and sporting a huge floppy hospital gown that, despite the fact that the inspiration for its design seems to have been a circus tent, still does very little to hide the fact that the poor woman’s body is now the thing that nightmares are made of. Every mom looks terrible in that photo, but it’s still her favorite photo of herself. They all have that same look of complete, unadulterated joy and love as they stare into their precious new baby’s unfocused, beady little eyes.
Well guess what? I didn’t get that photo with The Girl. No, ma’am. I got this one:
You can tell exactly what I was thinking from looking at this photo: Well, crap, I guess we’re starting this already. I completely blame her early and quick arrival for ruining our first mother/daughter photo.
As you can see, I did finish the dress. Once I realized she was on the way, I panicked and got right to work, still figuring I had another 20 hours of labor to finish it. I actually had to stop crocheting in the middle of a contraction and hand it to my mom to attach the bows and buttons.
Anyway, she came when she felt like it, she wore the dress, she got her picture taken with her mom, and even though none of it went according to my plan, it all worked out and this girl has given me joy every single one of the 730 days since. Happy birthday, Punky.