I can't believe that the little jumping jellybean from the ultrasound 8 months ago has resulted into her. That I'm actually holding her in my arms. I'm sure that there babies that are more beautiful (although I think she's pretty darn cute!), more perfect, etc than her, but she's mine. Mine, mine, mine. And I love every inch of her.
And there are times (plenty of times) when I'll wish that I can keep her this small, this young, forever. So I can shield her from all the evils of this world. To keep her this innocent for as long as possible, where her needs and wants are simple, unmarred. Right now, I'm her everything. But give it a few years, and she'll be pushing me away in search of freedom, taking her first steps of independence. And I cried.
I wish I could capture these times and put it into a safe place, where I can relive it over and over again, whenever I need it. Time travel, that's what I need. It's probably this realization, that it'll be over before I know it, that's making it easier for me to deal with the lack of sleep, the times where I can get absolutely nothing done in the house because she wants to be held in order for her to sleep in the day, the upheaval of our lives. Because really, that's what a baby does. It throws everything around. It makes one reevaluate what's truly necessary. It reprioritizes one's life. And there will be times (and there have been times) when I'll wonder "What on earth am I doing, thinking I can be a mother? I'm not even a kid person!" But then she'll smile, or grunt, or poop, or do something that will make me dust myself up, and vow that I'll just have to try harder, work harder, do better. Because she's worth it.