Yesterday, my daughter turned eight months old,
during a weekend of many celebrations.
There were sparkling candles,
big dinners,
songs and cheers.
However, in trying to think of how to write about my baby’s 8 months,
I had a hard time finding the words.
Should I compose a poem?
Month one was fun, but glad it’s done!
Month two brought smiles in the seashore sun.
Month three,
No no, this is not me.
Should I write another haiku?
No way. Such poems should be organic, just as the first was.
Should I do a post of pictures?
Not my style.
And then, just this morning, the post wrote itself;
The baby sat up in bed, next to me, and inched her way over so that her head was on my pillow.
She leaned forward, with a giant grin, and grabbed my face in her little hands.
She said “Mama” and planted an open mouth kiss
right on my upturned lips.
And that was that.
That small moment,
that little celebration,
was everything that 8 months is;
It’s how much she’s grown;
It’s the real person she’s become;
It’s love, personified.
My little girl wrote our story better than I ever could have,
with one soft word
and one gentle kiss.
If eight is this great, for the rest I cannot wait.
Happy Eight Month Birthday, sweet princess.
My love for you continues to grow immeasurably,
as you grow more beautiful
and more gentle
and more special
each day.
Thank you for the kisses.
Love, Mama


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