Auntie Kattiewampus meets The Peach
[Disclaimer: all pictures and information are being shared with permission from The Peach’s family]
Back in May, I posted this wonderful news.
And yesterday, at 2:48 am, she arrived!
I call her “The Peach.” It corresponds to her real name.
Last night, I got to meet her.
She was less than 24 hours freshly birthed! I know that’s a funny way to put it, but I’m one of those “life begins at conception” people, and saying “24 hours old” doesn’t quite capture that.
She is the most marvelous, precious, beautiful creation I’ve ever seen and during the thirty minutes that I held her in my arms, I fell completely in love with her. She was asleep the whole time. Every now and then, she would crinkle up her face, but that was it. I could feel her tiny little body taking breaths, and her tiny little heart beating, and it was the most amazing experience ever.
Also, if you know me at all, you know that I’m super uncomfortable and awkward with babies, so I included photographic evidence below to prove that I did really hold her:
Also, it’s a good thing she was sleeping, because apparently I look super creepy when I hold babies.
This is a much better photo of her – you can actually see her wonderful little face! I was trying to decide if she looks more like her mom or her dad, but the jury is still out.
Also, how amazing does her mom look? That incredible woman just gave birth about 18 hours before I took this picture! She is a champion.
And now to be selfish for a moment and attempt to summarize why this experience was so significant for me:
The past few weeks have been pretty rough for me on a few different levels and for a variety of reasons. I’m at an unusually low point these days, but getting to see my friend and her newborn baby last night made a huge difference. Holding The Peach in my arms was one of the most healing experiences ever. I could not stop smiling at her and talking to her, even though she was fast asleep. All of my self-consciousness about holding babies was gone because, in those moments, it wasn’t about me anymore. For a blessed evening, my problems faded into the background, and all that mattered was this tiny miracle who didn’t know or care about the layers of hurt and brokenness and baggage that I brought with me when I walked into that room.
And because she didn’t care about all of that, neither did I.