Four years ago, at this moment, I was 27 hours into labor. I had hit a point of despair and although nobody in the room would say it, the likelihood that things were going to end up the way I had hoped, was starting to dwindle. I needed to escape, to focus on the positive. I tried to remind myself that I was going to see her soon. I tried to picture who she would be. And all I could see was eyes.
I labored. I fought. Late into the afternoon, she was here. My body exhausted, my heart overwhelmed. I held her close, wiped my tears and took her in. And all I could see was eyes.
I knew those eyes. They were my family's eyes. When her daddy was across the world and life was scary and uncertain, I would try to picture the life we would build when he came home. I pictured this life. I pictured those eyes.
Four years later and I know the girl behind those eyes. She is sensitive, gentle and kind but with a wild streak that makes life both exciting and exhausting. She is fearless, confident and bold. She has the most insightful and often, hilarious, things to say and quite frankly, she's possibly the most interesting person I know. Any time I try to predict her path, her interests, she reminds me that she is her own person. She is artistic, dramatic, and wears her heart on her sleeve. The people in her life are incredibly important to her and she loves them with reckless abandonment. She's taught me that living life with an open heart and vulnerability, is the only way to live. She brings joy into our lives on even our toughest days and I'm convinced that the most beautiful sight in the world is her standing at the top of the stairs each morning with her princess PJ's and wild hair.
She is more than I ever could have wished for.