When you experience that miraculous moment of bringing life into this world, time stands still. It might sound silly, or cliche, or scientifically impossible to those of you who haven't lived through it yet, but believe me when I say it. Time stands still.
"One twenty-two pm," you are told by the nurse across the room, is when she officially made her big debut into this world. Another nurse happily calls out that she is "eight pounds, two ounces and twenty-one inches long!" and remarks that she is "nice and pink!" You hear her first cry-- which sounds more like a little mouse squeak than anything else-- and tears of joy, and pride, and emotion fill your eyes and immediately begin flowing down your cheeks. You ask the doctors and nurses if she is ok. If she is perfect. And you squeeze your husband's hand realllllllly tight in that seeming eternity until they answer you.
And when this beautiful, brand-new person-- the one bearing the uncanny resemblance to your own newborn photographs-- is finally wrapped up all cozy & warm and handed to you with a "She's perfect and healthy, congratulations!" from the doctor, you breathe your first sigh of relief.
You did it.
You created life, and she is perfect.
"Hi baby, I'm you're Momma. And I've waited a long time for you!"
You smother her forehead with kisses, and watch her tiny body rise and fall atop your chest as she sleeps there, hiccup-ing occasionally. Life, in this frozen moment, is heaven. And you enjoy and absorb every single, miraculous bit of it.
Sadly, the inevitable soon occurs; and like the world's fastest freight train, life starts to move ahead, full-throttle. The clock resumes ticking, but this time, in fast-forward, at 250 miles an hour. You are baffled by this-- why so much faster than anything you ever remember before it? You beg it to slow down. To wait. To spoil you once again with the luxury of timeless moments and everything standing still. But it can't.
That first quiet memory in the hospital, of that teeny pink baby laying on your chest, is way-too-soon replaced with new ones: babbling. snuggling.
first smiles.
sitting.
crawling. coo-ing. rolling. giggling. standing.
walking...RUNNING!!! clapping. skipping. chasing butterflies on summer afternoons. first swim-lessons. first hair-cuts.
loving. hugging.
laughing.
afternoons on sandy Maine beaches.
potty-training. trike-riding. singing.
first playdates. first ballet classes.
time-outs. boo-boos. favorite stories.bedtime snuggles.apple-picking.
birthday parties.
sleepovers. holidays. goofy living room performances.
first-day-of-schools.
tears.
giggles. recitals.
dress-up. cookie-baking. movie nights. becoming a big sister.
....and so, so much more.
And before you know it, this amazing little girl has painted your life with so many colorful memories that you can't even fathom that time existed before her.
This (not-so-tiny anymore) little person-- the one whole gray-blue eyes once gazed eagerly into yours--
has somehow, in the half-blink of an eye, become a little girl.
And today, a FIVE year old one at that:
Or, in her own terms, "A whole hand old, Momma!" (This is what she proudly announced to you this morning- her birthday morning- when you woke her up with the ceremonious exhibition of balloons & singing at six AM.) She held out her hand-- her WHOLE hand, with all five fingers proudly outstretched from her palm, and pointed with her other index finger: "See Momma? One, two, three, four...FIVE. A whole hand old today, woo-hoo!!! Can we have cinnamon buns now?"
And so my baby girl, my first-born, turned five.years.old today. (And if I do say so myself, she's as awesome as five-year-olds come these days.) And no, I'm not just saying this because I'm her Momma, or because I've raised her, or for any other completely biased reasoning.
I say it because, truth be told, as she enters her fifth year of life-- it's evident that she's a pretty remarkable kiddo, & I am completely amazed at how far she's come in five short years.
For example, she now expresses her emotions tremendously well and can easily voice when she is feeling "frustrated" or "sad" or "jealous." She has an unbelievable imagination and is able to tell "spooooo--oooooky stories" to try and scare us around Halloween. (sidenote, said stories almost always involve Randall from Monsters Inc., and a werewolf with "sharp, yellow thangs.") She maintains her own little relationships with friends, and teachers, and cousins and aunts and Nanas and neighbors. She is a social butterfly and makes friends everywhere she goes. She asks to call her Daddy at work when she misses him, and has (just about) memorized his office phone number. She knows her address, her phone number, and that she is "forty-six inches tall." She is able to write her full name, and Mommy and Daddy and Gavin...and most of her numbers (except 5 which is a "tricky one, Momma.") She knows exactly how to place her feet for first position...(and second, third, fourth, and fifth!) and her shuffle ball-changes are getting better by the day. She shines onstage and dances everywhere she goes, be it the grocery store or school or the dentist. (speaking of the dentist-- she lost her two bottom teeth this year, and even had her first official tooth fairy visit, which was pretty exciting!) She's known her alphabet for 3 years now and is on to bigger and better things, like words and sounds and reading and math. She is inquisitive about everything these days: "Daddy, why do the leaves change colors like that in the fall?", and "Momma, what's underneath my belly button?" She just adores animals and is kind to all of them. She has an affinity for gardening & even planted her own little garden this spring, watering it and caring for the flowers without prompting from us. She loves her baby brother to pieces, and instead of becoming annoyed with him for constantly toddling into her bedroom, she seizes this opportunity to dress him in princess jewels and crowns and pink headbands, giggling ferociously at the (hilarious) end result. But ultimately she is kind & gentle & loving to him, and that's all we ever could have asked for. She would do art all day long if she could, with particular interest in painting. She is a definite girly-girl and enjoys all things pink, purple, sparkly, glittery, and/or involving fairies-- all this while kicking serious butt on the soccer field each week, and having a tendency to out-score (and out-run) all of the boys on her team with ease. She loves the Tinkerbell movies and sometimes pretends that she is Wendy from Peter Pan, right down to the British accent (which, I might add, she has nailed pretty perfectly.) She loves singing and performing, and has recently begun voice lessons-- already, she can't wait for her 'big singing show on stage!" (unlike her Momma, she is fearless and uninhibited when it comes to performing, and I am so proud of her for this.) She brushes her own teeth (with inspection of course), her own hair (except for the tangles,) and makes her bed every morning-- lumpy and crooked, but made :-) She would eat "PB and jam" for breakfast, lunch & dinner if we'd let her and has recently begun to question why we make her eat the "dark" bread with her sandwiches, because she "really, really likes the white bread in the polka-dot package better" that she apparently had at a playdate once. (and when we respond to her that the dark bread is healthier, she crosses her arms, wrinkles her brow, and says "dark bread stinks!") She holds her own in arguments and will probably make a great attorney in the not-so-distant future. (Notable argument of the past year, "Momma, you say that I'm still your little girl, however if I eat all my vegetables, I will grow up soon. So, if you want me to stay your little girl, I think I should probably not eat the vegetables anymore, okay?") After just a year of training wheels, she's already asking about taking them off (yikes!) and wanting to ride "like the big kids." She sneaks sprays of my perfume while I'm getting dressed in the morning and enjoys click-clacking around the hardwood floors of our house in my fancy heels.
She is five, going on fifteen.
And I suppose that is what is so scary as a Momma. Looking back at her first five years of life, and knowing how fast the rest is going to blur by, too. Knowing that I will soon be writing about her eighth birthday, and then her thirteenth, and sweet sixteenth, and so on.
And again, I beg life to slow down. To stay here for just a bit longer, at this (safe, secure, comfortable) place where her biggest complaint in life is our lack of Wonderbread, and where the high-heels she wears around the house are from my closet and not hers. Here, where she thinks her brother's farts are the most hilarious things ever, and where Santa and Tinkerbell and the Tooth fairy really do exist. Here, where although she no longer fits cradled in my arms, she is still a baby in the sense that she needs her "Gocks" with her when she is scared, or nervous, or sick, or lonely. Here, in this awesome place, where she still requires bedtime stories and help with her tubbies and isn't too embarrassed to be caught watching Sesame Street with her baby brother. Here, where if I withhold her veggies, maybe she'll stay little forever...
But as previously discussed, life will not slow down again. Time will never again freeze for us like it did on September 28th, 2005 at 1:22pm.
No, time will not slow down.
But I can.
I can, and I promise to. I promise to do everything I can to savor, and enjoy, and treasure, and truly appreciate all of these amazing little moments & milestones that continue to make up the beautiful mosaic of her life. Of my little girl, my amazing Ava.
And one day all too soon, all I can hope is that when I step back to see the finished product, she is as beautiful and remarkable a person then, as she is today.
Happy 5th birthday sweet baby girl. Love you billions and billions!
XoXo
Momma
