On Sunday, E will be nine weeks old. The thought gives me a lump in my throat.
She has the sweetest little brown button eyes, and the most overflowingist cheeks you ever saw. Her toes are long (she gets that from her daddy) and she sneezes in the sun (she gets that from her mama). There is something very feminine about her; even her cry is sweet, and when she's really upset, her bottom lip will come up and you'll just melt.
She's been smiling for weeks now, and the older she grows, the more she smiles. This morning, as I buckled her rotund little self into her carseat, she looked up at me a smiled, for no reason at all. This child is going to remind me to be happy.
She is peaceful, and joyful, and loving. Her face lights up when her big brother comes around; she just looks for him. On the days that we can, I love to sleep late into the morning with her, her hot cheeks stuck to my arm and her little knees curled against my chest.
Already, when I look at photos of our family taken before she was born, we look incomplete without her.