12

Giggles is twelve today. 12. Yeah, I don’t know how that happened either.

Seems like just yesterday I was making a late dinner and realized I hadn’t felt her move in my enormous belly for most of the day. I attributed that to doing several things that were on the “Not for Pregnant Women to do” list that my husband had taped to the refrigerator. Things like painting the bedroom and moving furniture around.

I WAS NESTING, people. Cut me some slack.

When I mentioned the baby not moving part to SuperHubby about 8:30 that night, he immediately made me sit my ass down and then he called the OB. Who told us to come to the hospital NOW.

So we drove the hour to the hospital. I still had five weeks to go before the due date; I had just gone on maternity leave that week. Plenty of time.

Except not.

When we finally got there they immediately strapped a bunch of wires and tubes on, around and in my body. Nothing like a baby not moving to get the hospital staff zipping around. Not something I recommend however.

Having had a pregnancy go very very awry just over a year prior to this, I was in major denial. Just false labor, nope not due yet, all is good, this is a waste of time, they’ll be kicking us out of here in no time.

Except they didn’t.

Turns out her heartbeat was waaay low and erratic and there was almost no amniotic fluid, which was an oddity all its own as my water hadn’t broken, and as far I could tell there was no leaking, and believe me had there been leaking, I would have noticed that. When a woman is pregnant, one notices any type of fluid leaking from the lady parts. I still don’t know where all that amniotic fluid went. When Ace was born, it splashed all over my OB’s very expensive loafers. His fault he didn’t cover his shoes, not mine.

Baby in distress is how they phrased it. “In Distress” is not a phrase a pregnant woman wants to hear. EVER.

Four hours later her heart rate continued to drop, right along with my blood pressure, and it was decided that it was time to induce labor.

Four sweaty hours later this tiny squalling bundle of baby girl was set in my arms and my heart was hers forever.

I had held myself emotionally back from this pregnancy, not completely, because that feeling, those movements inside, how does one completely separate one’s self from the wonder of that incredible amazing being becoming, but there were pieces of my heart I had put aside, behind an impenetrable wall, so it would not be at risk should this child be lost to us as well. With one breath, those boundaries were blown to bits and she owned me. In the best sense possible.

She is a miracle, this girl.

She is strong, independent and beautiful, inside and out.

She is stubborn, loving, warm and fierce.

She is silly, pensive, brilliant and modest.

She shines from the inside, spilling light and magic where ever she treads.

And attitude.

As a toddler, she hit the terrible two’s when she was 18 months old and it lasted until she was almost four. At times I thought she was my very own demon spawn when she fussily cried for hours and nothing would soothe her. She changed my definition of patience and made me better, stronger.

There were months on end we did not take her out to any public establishment as she would throw a hissy fit and yell and scream. Over anything and everything. There was no rhyme or reason to what would light her fuse. Through the force of her personality, she taught me to be more uinderstanding.

On her 2nd birthday we held a large outdoor party. When everyone starting singing Happy Birthday to her, her little hands clenched, her face turned red and she screamed “NO SINGING!!” time and time again as everyone gaped at this tiny fierce person demanded to be heard. And obeyed. When we laughed, she glared at the lot of us and stalked away from her presents and cake. Plotting our imminent demise, I was certain.

She remains just as fierce, and she has a better, not firm, handle on her temper at this age, most of the time, and she really saves the worst of it for her brother.

When she has something on her mind, she mulls it over until she has it all lined out in her head and proceeds to tells us exactly what she thinks. In detail. With emphasis.

She loves to cuddle on the couch, watch movies and bounce on the trampoline on warm sunny days. She picks flowers and puts them around the house. She carries good luck charms in her purse, little presents that have special meaning just to her, so they are close at hand. She doesn’t always want people to know that she does this.

For years she was Barbie and Princess obsessed and I thought we would be buried under the mountain of pink.

And then one day, she was done. No more pink, no more Barbie, no more Princesses. I almost wept from the joy.

These days it’s Converse All-Star high tops in bright green or purple with fluorescent yellow laces. She chooses her own fashion styles and she doesn’t care what anyone thinks about those styles. Which she will tell me when I tentatively question the plaid and stripe combinations. Her recent prize fashion statement is the glittery red “There’s No Place Like Home” Converse sneakers.

She prefers to sculpt with clay than draw, but her creativity knows no boundaries and she explores that creativity with passion. She spends hours crafting giant Pop-Up cards for her friend’s birthdays because she loves to make people smile.

Her humor is distinct and quirky. She loves America’s Funniest Home Videos and will watch the Pink Panther movies over and over again. She thinks Carol Burnett is a comedy genius; her words not mine.

She dislikes her picture being taken, so she turns her back if she catches me trying to catch her.

The role model she’s chosen these days is Fiona from Burn Notice, which scares me some as that character likes to shoot people and blow things up.

Sometimes in the evenings, when all has settled down, she’ll snuggle close, tell me of her day, her thoughts, the things that made laugh, irritations and how she managed them and as she talks, gray eyes introspective, I see this young woman, her image merged with this little girl and it staggers me, my heart trembles from the love I have for her, and I hug her close. Her arms grab hold and I know this gift of her, her love and warmth, is one of the most precious things I have ever received.

My wish is that she forever retain her independent spirit and unique view of her world. Watching this girl grow from child to young woman is beautiful to behold.

It is my miracle to be her mother.