My girl, I want to tell you again about the day you were born. You arrived promptly @ 9:00 that morning. January 28th. You’ve always been a stickler for punctuality, unlike your brother 6 years older who treats time like silly numbers that fell off the clock sideways. You love being right on time, even early, if possible.
We cleaned you up, got you dressed, put you in your crib and you never even whimpered. It was like you came out of the womb already completely contented with life; ready to settle right in and just be comfortable and take a nap in this new place. Your dad was a little worried because you didn’t scream. Isn’t that what we’re led to believe newborn babies do? You were all pink and sleepy and breathing just fine, so I showered and went straight to the crib and picked you up for your first meal. First things first, though. As I drew you up to my lips for that first precious kiss, you were so relaxed you let your little arm fall backwards right behind my neck and gently squeezed me close. I was in love. I wanted another boy, you know. My plan was to have three boys. I knew boys. I already had two and was married to one. I just wasn’t really prepared not to be the only girl in the house anymore. Yet, there you were – Friday’s Child, loving and giving. You stole all our hearts in less than a beat of your own.
I miss you. So much.