Monday, December 22, 2008

Dear Gemma,

You are the best thing that happened to me this year. Your arrival followed the most intense and painful and defining 32 hours of my life, and your personality is the complete opposite of those laboring hours. You are, without doubt, the best baby on the planet. You are calm and peaceful and a joy to mother. What you lack in size, you make up for in volume, occasionally. A couple days ago, you were talk-yelling as you do and I was tuning you out as I do while talking to a friend. I noticed a woman nearby looking around, as if she were searching for something. Then her eyes fixed on you and her face broke into a smile as she said, "I was wondering where that sound was coming from but never imagined it was from someone so SMALL!" You're full of surprises.

You wake up and just lay in your hammock, sometimes talking, sometimes blowing raspberries, most recently with the faintest of singing, but always with a grin when I walk in. Your legs start kicking and your eyes crease at the corners and your breathing comes fast and shallow with anticipation. You love grabbing and eating and yelling at your feet. They are always in your hands and sometimes in your mouth. Your dad says it reminds him of the girl on Elmo's World (during their feet-ure presentation) of "The Girl who Loved Her Feet" (she took them everywhere with her).

You are perfect for your name. Without getting too gooey, you are a treasure impossible to count. I love your grin and your wee wrists and your almost non-existent hair. I love the way you snort when you laugh and laugh when you snort. I love the way you look so adoringly at your dad and your sister and your brother. I love how your arrival has brought such a peace to my life. Mostly, I just love you, Snorty.