(Hey you guys, I think I'll just pull my breathing apparatus right off my face, k?)
Today Scarlette is seven and a half weeks old.
Everything I missed at her birth, that moment of being handed your little love, that moment of holding your naked newborn baby close to your heart, I had that moment today. Nearly two months after her birth, I was able to gather her in my arms and hold her to me.
She nestled in against my breast.
Her hands. One tiny fist finding it's way into the hollow of my throat and the other grasping tightly to my side.
My hands. One wrapped gently, fully around her back, the other cupping her bottom and thighs with room to spare.
She is so very small.
And soundly she slept.
For two hours she slept, skin to my skin, the flesh of my flesh.
And I sat gazing at her face in miniature with awe and wonder and gave great thanks that though the moment didn't come when expected, it came. It came.
