Each morning I wake up and see my first born daughter, a perfect moment frozen in time, secured behind glass. I see her tiny toes on my way out to go kiss the tanned toes that are kicking in anticipation for her morning rescue from the crib. We return to my bed where we wake up and play. In the corner of the room her big sister watches over us and each morning my thoughts drift back and forth from daughter to daughter. Would the oldest and I have had the same morning routine? Would she have been more prone to rolling over, quieter than her sister, and would she adore her furry sister as fiercely? Racing questions are followed by the familiar pull in my chest. The loss never far, always threatening to linger for a moment too long and bring a wave of grief I have worked so hard to control. A squeal of delight breaks my train of thought and I smile as happiness replaces grief and I can't imagine life without this amazing daughter I can attack with endless kisses and tickles.
As the years go by I will never look at my children and remark on how much they look like their daddy as they get older. They will never inherit my blue eyes or height. However I will be able to watch perfect children grow and be thankful to the birth parents to whom they resemble. I will rejoice that I was chosen to be the feisty toddlers mother and never take for granted the heartache and loss they endured to help relieve the pain of mine.
Motherhood is hard, messy and the best damn thing I have ever done.
