Wednesday, October 26, 2011

At 4 a.m.

Dear Viola,

You are six weeks old. A darling 9 pound little girl with a cotton candy tongue. Dark brown hair and eyes as blue as your lovin' daddys'. You have begun to smile and you know our voices. Sleeping, at night at least, seems to hold little appeal. You and I have a standing appointment at 4am every morning. We meet over a warm bottle and a rocking chair. Holding you in the dark of the morning is not something I am quite ready to give up. There is something special about just you and me and the stars. As I listen to your little baby sighs, I wonder who you are. What dreams were you born with and what dreams will I help you find? How will you decide to live the moments we are given on this earth? And always, how can I help you? Because little girl, I live to help you. The questions are there and the answers, the lovely, bright, happy answers will come. Until then you snuggle in closer and I bless you as only a mother can. I bless you with a family that loves you. I bless you with the life I hope for you. A life with pride of accomplishment, a man to love, a little girl to hold at 4 in the morning. I bless you with adventure and love and warmth. With hopes unhindered by fear or regret. I bless you with curiosity and desire and faith. That you will know your Heavenly Father and your divine heritage. That you won't waste the beauty I see behind those blue eyes. And I hold you and love you and in the dark it almost seems possible that I can give you all these things.

See you in a few hours.

Love,

Mama

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