Danny boy.

The night Danny was born, we just couldn’t go sleep! We sat there pouring over our this tiny being we had created, saying over and over how we couldn’t believe it all. (I probably said it a million times!) We stayed up until 3:00am kissing his head and touching his hands and stretching out his little legs. (He was/is so long!) When we finally settled in, we crashed and slept sound, but I still woke early next to a sleeping husband scrunched up on his little pull-out chair/bed. The sun was shining through the window and the room was perfectly quiet and all at once I felt so incredibly loved and at peace. There I was, alive and well and whole, with a perfect baby in my arms and I knew (as I still know) that our prayers were heard exactly. I had walked to the very edge and I had come back feeling sacred. And in between all the craziness that follows bringing home someone brand new, (i.e. the hormones/leaky body/lack of sleep sort of thing), I’m thankful to have had those sweet moments that one sweet morning. Not to say that I haven’t melted down, broke down, lost my patience or cried 3,423,912 times since then. But still, in between, I’ve felt consecrated in this hard, sweet, and incredibly emotional work called motherhood. And I owe that feeling to Heavenly Father, who is, I believe, the reason we (mothers) can make it through in the end, anyway.

Sweet Danny things:

His long eyelashes, the way his little mouth yawns, how sweet he smells, and the way he looks at Morgan.