family

Dear Maia,

Beautiful.

That is the word that comes to mind whenever I think of you.  And while it is so often a comment on your physical state — your shining, dark eyes, your long, narrow limbs, your perfect round belly — you embody beauty in every way.

Spiritually, you are radiant.  The unadulterated joy in you find in everything humbles us.  You are just as amazed by the little plastic tab from a bread bag as you are by a balloon.  And let me tell you, that’s a lot of amazement; today at the dollar store, we found some mylar balloons and you started squealing, reaching for them, and babbling, nearly tumbling from your Daddy’s arms.  When he gave them to you and set you down, you caressed the mylar and patted it, smiling in your wide-mouthed way, your deep dimple visible only when you peeked around the side of the balloon to make certain we still watched you.  Of course we did.  How could we take our eyes from you?

It’s so hard for me to write this, Maia, because I feel like words are insufficient.  I wish I could distill every bit of delight you bring to our lives and put it into this letter, but it’s like trying to catch a waterfall in a thimble — no matter how hard I try, I won’t succeed.  But I’ll try.

After I zipped up your pajamas tonight, I leaned down and kissed you full on the lips, then smooched your cheeks and neck and chin.  You laughed from deep in your belly in a blissfully helpless way, twisting to and fro as if trying to escape, but your little hands grabbed mine and held on tight.  “You’re going to have a wonderful birthday,” I told you over and over again between kisses, “we love you so much.”

I read your bedtime book, and before I even closed it you were leaning back, mouth open, head turned towards me, wanting to nurse to sleep as you always do.  And usually when you nurse to sleep, I read, but tonight I watched you instead.  I watched the perfect shape of your pink lips, the way the tip of your nose touches my skin, and as your eyes fluttered shut, I felt tears fill my own.  My vision blurred.  I want it to be 1:07am, February 13th, 2010, because I want to know that you have been here every second of a year, that there will never again be a moment in time untouched by you.

Maia, beauty can be found in happiness and sorrow, joy and bitterness, hope and despair.  You will explore all of these things in your life, and I know that you have the grace of spirit to learn from them — and your father and I will be at your back, waiting to support you when you need us.

We love you so much, papaya.  Thank you for showing us what it truly means to be beautiful.

Love,
Mama & Dada

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