almost there...

It's the eve of Eliana's first birthday. I remember Casey writing about holding Moana to her face for as long as she could the night before she turned one. I too did that tonight. Usually these days when I go in for a long, hard squeeze or snuggle, she quickly tries to wriggle away, little independent duckling that she is. But tonight she let me hold her. I kissed her cheeks and little neck. Her eyelids. I let her rest her soft arm around my neck. I let her melt into me and savored each glorious second, as I knew she'd soon enough throw her head back and reclaim her freedom.

I inhaled. She doesn't smell all babyish and sweet anymore. In fact tonight she smelled a lot like me, the soap we'd shared, the bath we had just taken together. I kinda love that. Smelling like her. I had to scrub the dirt out of her little legs and wipe the sticky watermelon juice off of her face. Eliana is certainly enjoying being a grubby little girl. This doesn't surprise me at all seeing as how her dad and I are not exactly neat folk who certainly enjoy a little sweat and funk, especially when the sun is hot and there's fun to be had.

I've thought so many times to this day last year. We went to Red Rocks Beach on the Blackfoot. My sister was in town for the birth and we were with Bobby, Jo, and Solan. We left my mama in the hotel to rest. I remember sitting on the shore, all gazillion enormous pounds of me and feeling the early pains of labor. I was no longer scared, but rather experiencing the sensations in my body, feeling thoroughly present and absolutely ready. One of my favorite yoga teachers always told us to focus on the, "sensations in our body as they moved through the moment." We were encouraged not to judge them or fight them, just to let them be and acknowledge them.

I've never realized until this moment how fitting that wisdom was for the whole birth. Actually, it's a superb metaphor for the whole act of being a mother. All we have to do is add a piece about honoring the sensations as they move through the body, the mind, and the heart. We have to link it all together. We have to give the sensations a soul. We have to hold them and cherish them as they morph and strengthen, surprise and devour, endear and empower. We have to hold the moments. Bless them. Honor them. Revere them.

That day on the Blackfoot, the river astonished me. The love I felt for my family and friends was overwhelming. The moment shone; the golden dust on the dirt road, the sunlit laughter of the water, the shiny gleam of the pebbly beach. I felt so full.

And I had absolutely no idea. No idea how much I would love you. No idea of how good it still could get. No idea of how thoroughly blessed I am that you chose me.