Happy Birthday

Dear Elaine,

As I write this, you are looking over at me with your big grin, jumping up and down as high as you can go in your doorway jumper. You're making fierce growling noises, and we are laughing with you. What a difference from one year ago! On this morning a year ago, the morning after you were born, your ICU doctor came to my room to talk to me. I had seen you only briefly before they took you away because you weren't breathing right. I tried to keep the shaking out of my voice as I asked him if you were going to be OK. If you could breathe. If you had an increased risk of dying of Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. After talking with me, a smile crossed his warm brown face and he said, "A picture is worth a thousand words. You need to go see your daughter!"

Your daddy took me to the neonatal ICU--he was a pro there by now. We scrubbed our hands and arms with this industrial strength soap that dried out our skin so much it almost bled. We put on clean hospital gowns, and Daddy took me back to where your crib was. I was worried that in the midst of all those babies, I wouldn't know which one was you. But then I saw you. You had a lot of tubes and wires connected to you and to a machine that monitored the oxygen in your blood. But you looked just like us! Unmistakable!

I spent those first days in the hospital with you--safely cocooned in our own little world of the NICU--rocking you and listening to the Christmas music the nurses had playing. Then came the terrifying first weeks and months you were home with us. You would choke and stop breathing and turn blue. You slept in your carseat and I slept by your side for the first three months. All through the night, I would reach my hand down and touch you to make sure you were still breathing.

And then, all of a sudden, we began to see your two dimples. A lot. You started out with a smile, quickly progressed to a giggle, and now our house is filled with your frequent belly laughs. Your blond hair began to grow, and now it's a rakish little mohawk. The last time I took you to the dr., he walked in and said, "Oh, someone's having a bad hair day today!" I was a little insulted on your behalf because that's what it looks like all the time. You've kept your bright blue eyes--you look like a little Nichols.

Let's see--in this year we've learned some things that you like: being rocked, smiling, a warm bottle in the morning, Spot the Dog books, the bathtub spout, swinging as high as you can in your swing and squealing, your big sister, being tickled, bouncing on the bed, giggling, blowing raspberries, a warm bottle before your nap in the afternoon, Lucy's Groovy Girl doll, rubber ducks, jumping as high as you can in your doorway jumper, African music, rocking back and forth in your highchair, sitting on Daddy's lap, a warm bottle before bedtime, laughing, your stuffed lambs, bouncing up and down in your exersaucer, Packa's plastic birds, your Winnie-the-Pooh tree, singing "Pop Goes the Weasel," dancing around the kitchen with Mama, being bounced on one of our laps, and a warm bottle in the middle of the night if you can convince one of us to give you one.

Some things you don't like: having your diaper changed, carrots, being buckled into your highchair, getting your tights put on, getting your shoes put on, being buckled into your carseat, having anyone hold your hands, not being allowed to watch TV, not being allowed to play with Packa's plastic birds, being put down for a nap, and finishing your bottle.

Last night we celebrated your birthday. You wore a green velvet and taffeta party dress, your patent leather shoes, and a little bow in your mohawk. You were mesmerized by the lights on the Christmas tree, and Mimi insists that you said "tree" not once but twice. You stood alone for the first time! Mimi said, "The only reason your Mommy and Daddy were so calm at this time last year was because they were in shock. We were all terrified!" and the rest of your grandparents agreed. We all talked about what a change it was from last year. We're all so thankful that that tiny little baby wrapped in tubes and wires has changed into the bouncy, ecstatic little girl we have here today. We sat around the table and toasted your good health.

I brought in your snowman cake and watched your little eyes illuminated by the light of one candle. Everyone encouraged you to blow it out, and Lucy helped you. I'm not sure what you wished for, my sweet little girl, but I thanked God for your good health; your joyful, exuberant spirit, and your sweet good nature. Then I wished you as much happiness in your whole lifetime as you've brought us in your first 365 days.

Happy birthday, dear Smoochie!

I love you.

Mama