One more week

I have seven more days with an eight year old living in my house!  She was due yesterday, but decided to wait another week before meeting the world.  Those seven days, eight years ago, were…oh, what one word can be used to describe a weeks’ worth of an overdue baby, 5 extra people, 3 extra dogs and an insatiable craving for pumpkin pie?  I don’t know.

Now that it is long over, it is an elegant memory.  My little sister was living up here with her two oldest children less than a mile away.  My older sister was visiting to be here for my daughter’s arrival with her two children.  My moms were here with their three dogs.  My girl was born on a Friday morning, but I contracted on Tuesday night (which brought all the visitors), Wednesday night and Thursday night.  Crazy baby was quite peaceful from about midnight until 6 pm.  Then we’d go into rough back labor.  Then she’d stop again!

Praise the Lord for my intuitive midwife!  She got me through and we had a darling, perfect, nine pound, four ounce baby in a pool where we normally keep the dining room table. That was magic.  It was calm, quiet, comfortably dark.  I was walked to my bed after she was born and loved on by family (and doula and midwife) while I knew that my baby was receiving even more TLC than I was. 

Here we are, drifting further and further from that enchanting time of expectation and potential.  She is a young lady now.  Sweet, smart, pretty, funny, and never one to turn down a wrestling match.  She loves tea parties and making ugly faces.  She struggles through learning disabilities, but begs to do ‘rock star spelling.’  She loves her brother and riding her bike.  She loves her puppy and her daddy.  She is growing to become my life-long friend.

Man, am I blessed to overflowing!