I love this age. I don’t want her to get older. I love year olds and 18 month olds, too. In fact, those are probably my favorite stages because they start walking and talking and are painfully cute. But, I am really loving her at 6 months. She is small enough to cart around easily. She can play independently for a few minutes here and there. She takes great naps. Night time sleeping is still broken up every three hours with a feeding, but she did sleep through the night once. That was exciting.
And she loves me. When someone else is holding her and I walk past, she reaches out for me. When I get her out of bed, she wraps her arms around my neck as tightly as she can, holding on for dear life.
When she was smaller, I often felt like I was just a pair of boobs to her. You know? She wanted me because I was the milk wagon and she really likes milk. But now, she wants me because she wants me. Just to sit on my lap and snuggle. I am her everything and she is my everything, and neither of us can survive without the other. I just love this girl so much.
What makes it harder is that I know she is my last baby. I don’t want her to be, but she is. If I were younger… if my health was different… if our financial situation hadn’t just taken a hit… maybe she wouldn’t be, but I’m older and my health is questionable, so we are done. As much as I complained about it, it breaks my heart that the child bearing stage of my life is over.
I love her. I love her so much. She is what I needed. She was my peace offering from God. He said, “I will give you MS, but I’ll also give you this beautiful little soul. And she will heal your heart and your body (for a time).” And it was good.
My little Lydia. Born in the wilderness of my affliction. I needed you. I’m so thankful for these last six months we’ve had together.