Dear Carly

I do not remember the night of your birth, I wasn't there. I missed your first breath, your first cry, your first meal, your first hazy glimpse of the big, wide world that was suddenly your home. I would love to say that I had some flash of insight, some quick realization that you were here and that soon you would be with me, but it was just another ordinary day. By chance, I was keeping a journal during the week you were born. I am a very sporadic journal keeper, stopping and starting like a bad stutter, so I am very grateful I was in a journal phase when you made your entry.

I remember the phone call, I remember hearing you had been born and I remember being asked if we wanted you. It seemed ridiculous that my quick "yes" wasn't enough and that I was given time to consider it, there was no other answer. Driving over to meet you a few days later was blissful torture. I had no idea what to expect but I already clung to the idea that you were mine like it was the only life preserver in a very vast ocean. I remember chattering to (at) your dad, he was probably half crazy with my flood of words.

I remember seeing you. Radiant, delicate, pale, perfect heart-shaped lips, a soft cap of dark hair, impossibly small. I hadn't known that you were early, it didn't matter to me what the details of your physical birth were at the time. When I held you I expected some kind of instant, palpable bond but there was nothing except happiness and disbelief. I never questioned this because I wanted you so badly that it made no difference, but now that I can see it with hindsight I realize that there was no click of a puzzle piece falling in place because you had already been in your place for a long time. You were nuzzled in your spot in my soul since before you came, stretching back across the pre-mortal, so that there is no divisible time of 'not mine' and 'mine'. I have never doubted from that first breathless moment, your birth in our family, that you were mine.

I never imagined before, in all my life, that I would have a daughter who looks nothing like me. I never expected that you would be this wonderful satiny-chocolate color. I wouldn't have thought that a child so different could fit so perfectly into my arms. Now that I know you in this mortal existence it is even more clear that your place has been long assured in our family. You belong here. You have your Grandma Annie's spunk. You have your dad's strong will. You have your mom's love of showing off. You have your Grandma-Rie's compassion. You have your Poppa's stubbornness (definitely not mine...). You have your Grandpa's active mind. For a long time your dad and I were searching for the missing puzzle piece, but you were not missing, we were just looking at the puzzle wrong. You were always there, waiting.

There are many words to describe you. Diva, actress, singer, sister, beautiful, cute, strong, cuddly, daddy's girl, mimic, Joshua-worshiper, explorer, flipper, talker, singer, princess, tom-boy. Today there is one word I revel in, one word I can't say without being grateful: Mine.

Happy Birthday, my Carly Annie.