Happy Birthday, Gemma Baby.

Yesterday, as Gemma sat coloring at the table, amid her general commentary blabber, I heard her say, "Your job is to fertect me, right mom?" Fertect? Wait, protect? "Yes, Gemma." "Yep, you fertect me from bad people and bugs and falling down and that's why you're the best mom because you always fertect me."

If I can, I will. Unfortunately, there will always be bad people and bugs and falling down, but I love that you know I'll be right there. Four years ago you were born after 34 of the worst hours of my life. Even reflecting upon them today (re-reading those links), I begin to feel uncomfortable. Reading what I wrote back then makes me feel a bit better, but I still can't watch the video your dad put together without crying. I can't listen to those bands' music, regardless of what song, because just the sound makes me tense. It's bittersweet because out of the pain and anxiety and fear and a lot more pain, came the most amazing baby and a discovery that I'm stronger than I ever imagined. You gave me that gift. You are the kind of baby that, had you not been preceded by a traumatic childbirth, would inspire massive overpopulation. You are a gift worth suffering for. I have loved you as a baby and a toddler and I love you as a regular kid. I love your stories and imagination and your recognition of good and bad. I love that cuddling is one of your favorite things. I love burying my face in your hair and breathing in your scent. I love being your mom. So yes, I will protect you from as much as I possibly can. When there will be times I can't, I'll be there for the hugs and the cuddling.

I love you, my sweet gem of a baby. Happy birthday, Gemma.