Grace

It's 1 am, and I feel like writing another post, for some reason. Something I keep meaning to get to, but never do, so I'll do it now before it slips through the cracks.

For some reason, mostly just the passing of time and the experience it brings, I appreciate the perfection and grace of babies more than I ever have before. I find myself in spots throughout the day, just looking at Emma, and I'm in awe, like I can't store enough of her away in my memories, tiny fragile little bubbles, that come into being, only to float away and pop out of existence. I love how she moves, the sweetness of it, as if the world sings with every breath that she takes. I love the way she smells, the whole perfume of it, her laundry soap, baby powder, sour milk, her skin, everything that makes her unique. It's bittersweet because I know it won't last. We have to leave our infant perfection behind and determinedly march forward in order to reach for the more meaningful perfection of fire-hewn exaltation.

But I pause now, to breath in a few more tiny moments of grace:

Emma's top teeth popped all at once, the two on the side coming in even before the two in the front.
Emma's 9-month-old pics, 17 Mar 09



I love watching her feet, tiny, sweet, graceful and beautiful.