I never had a conscious desire to be a mom. It never really looked like an especially glamorous job and the looming threat of mini-vans and carpools were enough to make me uncomfortably squirm in my favorite suede stilettos. But now, well now I realize somewhere buried deep I knew it all along. I was destined to do this. And if anyone could have made me realize how much I would love this babe (and believe me, they’ve tried), knowing the impact this little life has made is something that can’t effectively be described. Because it’s something that’s inscribed, in your bones, in your senses, in your instincts. It’s a culmination of what people have tried to convey, but the actual impact it’s had is immeasurable.

After Isla was born, I was overwhelmed with people asking me if I ever knew I could love this much. Yes, I did know I could love this much, but what I didn’t know, was the unfamiliar feeling of the why am I crying again? love that would consume my body and shake my bones. And I realized that this little nugget was indeed the golden ticket, granting us backstage passes to the mind blowing throw down secret love pile everyone kept speaking of.

I was in awe of this little life, this perfectly formed little girl that lay in front of me that was just moments ago nestled comfortably in my belly (and at a week late, comfortable she was!). That this was the life I had nurtured daily for nine months. That I spoke to, that I sang to, that I poked at and felt as she grew fully into this little babe. Her being was as familiar to me as I was to myself, yet I found myself stunned that the little face staring back at me was a perfect stranger. A stranger I yearned to know, to grow close to, and grasp the overwhelming idea that we made this little girl. That she is so real, and she is ours. Almost as if I couldn’t believe it possible to be true.

Bringing Isla home from the hospital was surreal. Tears of joy streamed down my face as I was wheeled from the room that I spent cooped up for the first two days of her life. Entering the elevator and then into the real world, I was literally overcome with emotion. She was our little perfect piece of love… and we were bringing her home. To the home we’ve spent the past 9 months preparing for her. To her sanctuary. To the place where we would fall more and more in love every day. It was a day that we dreamed about, but could never quite grasp the magnitude of. Nobody prepared me, or could have prepared me for the overwhelming emotion of it all. It was beautiful. She is beautiful, and so perfect in every little ounce of her being.

I find myself staring for unmeasurable periods of time at this little life, cradled into my arms, and wonder if she knows I’m her mama. If she knows my smell, recognizes my voice, and if these things bring her comfort. I softly kiss her cool, damp and milky cheeks, longing for her to fall asleep in my arms. Her perfectly formed lips blowing her warm breath on me. And in this stillness, I study every ounce of her being. I’m obsessed.

Brace yourself, a steady stream of consciousness is about to ensue…

It’s the way she breathes in swift, heavy puffs when she’s uneasy. And the way she throws her arms out when naked, as if trying to find balance on her tightrope, otherwise known as the chevron changing table. It’s kissing the birthmark on the back of her neck when laying across my chest, her token stork bite. And the way she pulls her head back, bottom lip adamantly furled, when she cries, letting us know that she’s really unhappy. It’s how I know exactly how and when her lips will purse during these fits of tears. And the sick thought that I might actually enjoy her cries, because the feeling that comes from knowing I can console her is unexplainable. It’s the middle of the night, when I whisk her out of the bassinet and lock eyes, so dark and alive, staring right into mine as she shines a toothless grin. A grin that’s cocked to one side first before revealing the full monty. Why didn’t someone tell me I’ve been waiting my whole life to see that grin? I stare in awe, amazed at how much of me I unexpectedly see in her. It’s the tight grasp on my finger when nursing, all five of hers wrapped in an unwavering clench around one of mine. It’s her scent, part baby part Isla, and I desperately miss it if I’m away for too long. It’s how she sucks her fist when she’s upset. It makes my heart explode every single time. And how she folds her arms under her chin as a prop when being burped. It’s the little balls of lint, treasures caught between her fingers for me to find and annoyingly pick out.  It’s all the little grunts. Ones that make us jump up and run to her. Ones that make us laugh. And the way she stretches so big when waking from a nap. It’s the feeling that nobody can take care of her like I can take care of her. It’s the greatest and most fulfilling project that’s ever been mine.

It’s so many things. It’s the words that used to make me shudder, mom, that suddenly cause me to feel comfortably at home in this skin. And here I stand, proudly in my shorter-heeled stilettos and new signature scent, Eau de A+D Ointment, still happily in denial that Honda Odysseys even exist. And all I can think about is how great our life is, and how excited I am for what our future holds – our little family of three.

“They didn’t have you where I come from, never knew the best was yet to come. Life began when I saw your face, and I hear your laugh like a serenade. How long do you wanna be loved? Is forever enough, is forever enough? How long do you wanna be loved? Is forever enough, ’cause I’m never, never giving you up.”

This little girl… she is loved to the moon and back. And then once more.

Suggested Listening: Lullaby (aka Isla’s song) / The Dixie Chicks