Six Months

Dear Lydia,

SIX MONTHS! I am amazed, thankful, bewildered and a little fearful as we celebrate this milestone with you. I was looking back through your pictures and am amazed that despite the fact you’ll never grow up like a normal baby, you have come so far in your own way.

This was the very first picture I took of you.


You were so little and so sick and we were so scared. We had a million questions that had no answers. We heard best case scenarios and worst case scenarios and everything seemed like losing, no matter how we looked at it. We waited and waited to bring you home so we could be a family, and when it finally happened, we thought we had weeks together at the most.

This picture was taken just a couple days after we brought you home, at your baptism.


We felt like you were hanging on by only one of your tiny little toes. We held our breath every time you stopped breathing, ready at any moment to say goodbye to you should Jesus come to take you to heaven.

But our fear turned cautiously to hope that you might stay with us a little longer as every day you grew stronger and stronger.

We’ve been able to do so many more things with you than we thought we would do.

We have come up with a so many (somewhat absurd) nicknames for you: Peanut, Punkin’, Punkin’ Pie, Punkin’ Pie Face, Bug, Bug-a-boo, Smoochy, Smooch, Smudgy, Smudge, Smudge Face...yep, all really original too. We rarely call you by your actual name.

We’ve gotten to snuggle you for hours on end. We’ve given you thousands of kisses. We’ve read tons of books and sung hundreds of songs. We’ve taken walks in the park on beautiful fall days. We’ve had play dates. We’ve gone to Maine.

I wish that I could say doing all of these things make me feel like I’ve done enough to be OK never doing them again. But every time I hold you, every time I sing you a song, every time I kiss your jawline right below your ear, all I want is to be able to do it a million more times, every day forever.

But I don’t want you ever to think that it hasn’t been enough. All that you are, all you have been is more than I ever imagined when we first learned how sick you really were. Every time you look in my eyes with those heart-stopping blue eyes, every time you make your funny laughing face when I tickle you, every time you fall asleep and drool all over my shirt is one more time than I thought I would get.

So, today on your birthday I’m going to try to remember that. I promise you that I’ll do my very best not to cry because I want this day to be a celebration of all we never thought we would have.



You’ve come so far, and I know I say this almost every time I write you a letter, but you’re a miracle, baby. A constant reminder to me of the magnificence of the God who gave you life.

I wish that there were words enough to tell you how much I love you - how much every moment you’ve been alive has meant to me. Just believe me when I tell you that these six months have forever changed my life.

Happy Birthday, my big girl.

I love you so.

Mama