They say life’s not about the number of breaths you take but rather the moments that take your breath away.
How true it is!
As a new mom, I have had tons of fleeting moments (already) where I’ve felt breathless.
Where I’m staring at Maya as her eyes flutter and she drifts to sleep and my heart literally stops and I cry tears of I don’t know what … joy, anticipation, happiness, fear, maybe a combo of all of the above.
Where I’m watching her and she’s watching me and I make a silly face and she opens her mouth and grins that gummy baby grin, exposing her adorable double dimples, saying “Gaaaahhh.”
Where I’m rubbing her back and can feel her soft, sweet, milky breath on my neck and her little arms wrapped around my shoulders.
Well, this weekend I had another one of those moments but it was a very specific, very poignant one.
During my scary prenatal testing drama this summer, I was obsessed with the lyrics of B.O.B.’s “Airplanes” — particularly the chorus.
Can we pretend that airplanes
In the night sky
Are like shooting stars
I could really use a wish right now (wish right now, wish right now)
When it would come on the radio, I’d practically scream the lyrics while touching my belly — all the while hoping someone, somewhere could hear my wish — that Maya would be healthy and OK –and hoping that, somehow, she’d hear them and know it was “our song.” Not anyone’s but ours.
So here’s the scene.
8 PM. Saturday night. Bath-time, check. Story, check. Bottle, check. Swaddle, check. One last diaper change, check.
I was cradling Maya in the rocker — and started singing a bunch of different songs. She stared straight at me during all of them.
Until I began singing the chorus of “Airplanes.”
All of a sudden, she started cooing. Smiling like crazy. I couldn’t believe it; thought maybe I was crazy. So I stopped, waited. Started again — and again, she reacted–smiling and cooing. I repeated this a few times til she got drowsy and, in true baby form, was gurgling one minute and out cold the next.
Now you could argue, “Well sure babies smile and coo at songs!” But it was this PARTICULAR song that got her going. And I was moved to tears.
It was this unbelievable sensation of innate, inexplicable connection … she KNEW the song. It was familiar to her, from her early time in the womb. And it made her smile … telling me, “Mommy, it’s going to be OK. I’m fine!”
While we made it through the genetic testing issues, I know that life is going to present all kinds of curve balls; it always does.
But for now, I’m clinging tight to this beautiful memory and the belief that hope does, indeed, float.
I love you, sweet Maya. I’ve said it before, but you’ve changed my world in ways I didn’t know were possible. Every day I want to be better, stronger, braver — for you. Daddy and I are so, so, so very blessed to have you in our lives. We love you more than you can ever know!!