At first, it takes forever. Nine long months are stretched out before you, but it may as well be nine years. The doctor confirms your suspicions that a baby is on the way, declares a due date, and the waiting begins. You count the days. You paint the room. You buy the crib. But mostly, you just wait. Wait for your life to be changed by a little baby.
Then all at once, it's like somebody accidentally stepped on life's remote control, and the whole thing is thrown into fast forward. Before you can catch your breath, you're throwing a suitcase in the back of the car at three am and racing down the highway to the hospital. The blur begins. All the months have dwindled down to mere minutes, and everything begins happening so fast. The nurses come in and out, you hear the heart beat on the monitor, the doctor arrives, push, push, push. A baby cries. She's beautiful. She's in your arms.
Although you couldn't wait for this moment to arrive, you find yourself wishing you could slow it down somehow. You don't want it to be a blur. More than anything, you want to soak up every little detail of every little second. Counting all her fingers and toes. Taking pictures in one hand, video in the other. Calling the family with the good news. Finding out how much she weighs, and guessing who we think she looks like the most. "Don't let this be a blur," you tell yourself. And then, you happen to look up at the clock, and day one of baby's life is already coming to a close.
Delaney Ruth West, I'm so glad you are here! I can't stop looking at you, and I'm jealous every time somebody other than your mother holds you :) I get teary eyed when I see the way your big sister looks at you in amazement. What a family I have been blessed with! What a child.
Mark my words, little girl. I'll be looking for the guy who stepped on my remote control until the day I die. I am determined to spend our days together in slow motion. "Don't let this be a blur," I say. "Don't let this be a blur."
