It’s a bright morning. The air outside is still, heavy and hot. This is Florida in the summer time; humid and sweltering, even before eight o’clock. The air conditioner hums as the the sun beats into the living room from behind the closed white curtains, diffusing filtered light across my sweet pea’s face. She smiles at me and pushes herself up, wobbily balancing on her dimpled knuckles. She bites her lower lip in concentration, bends her chubby knees and sits up, looking at me with delighted satisfaction as she lets out a coo of victory.
I smile at her as a wave of amazement washes over me. She is ours. This little living, breathing, laughing person is ours. The wonder of this catches me off guard sometimes, catches me deep in my heart and I am awestruck by the sheer miraculousness of it all. She is here, right before us. She is our precious Aveline Alenka, our radiant, longed-for child.
To say that time flies seems cliche. But it does. It flies. She wraps up time in her tiny voice, her unsteady feet, her bright eyes, and she gives time wings. Together, Aveline and time soar through the days and weeks, leaving a trail of uncontainable joy behind them.
This week, she crawled for the first time. She sat up for the first time. And from those perfect little coral-colored lips, she sang her first word — “bumpa” (grandpa).
Time is no match for her.
As time sails past in front of my marveling eyes, I jump in with all my heart. I jump in, reach out, and hold on to each moment. I know that in a mere blink, all of this present wonder will become a memory. And so I stand here, the world slowing to a blur around me, my heart overflowing with thankfulness to the great Giver of all good gifts. Thank you, God, for our miracle.