Happy Belated Birthday, Dumpling!

I'm sorry that I forgot to do this on your real birthday. I've been waiting for months for it to be your special day and here, your tribute will post a whole week late! You know what though? I know you, and am sure you will say sweetly, "Oh...that's o.k." You might even cock your head to the side and bat your eyes a few times wearing that pretty cartoon-perfect smile of yours.

You and each of your sisters is a true treasure to me. Each has been used mightily by our Lord to teach me different things, and each has all my love. But today, I'm going to talk about you. Just you! My one in the middle. Sometimes "catching it" from both ends, but well equipped to take it. My grace baby. My go-to-sleep-by-myself baby. My dumpling. The one I prayed for fervently and thought might never come. You were worth the wait.

They say that you never get a second chance to make a first impression. As it turns out, our first impression of you didn't mean a thing. Do you want to know what was your daddy's and my first impression of you? Well...you came out screaming. Not crying. Screaming mad -- and kicking. The delivery nurse was almost sure you were aiming and kicking. It wasn't a pleasant, pitiful cry like your older sister, it was raging mad and relentless. I hope you'll find the humor in it when I tell you that your father and I looked at eachother right there in the delivery room and said -- jokingly but apprehensively -- something like, "Oh no. Put her back. She's scaring us."

I know why you were mad, though. You were 11 lbs. and had been held crowning in the birth canal for no less than 5 minutes, long-suffering for a healer to arrive and thus wedge thee from my womb.

You made a lot of strong, early impressions on us, Dumpling. At three weeks old, you had a very rough night one Friday. I slept in a bed beside your bassinet and you awoke crying every 20 minutes. As the night progressed, and my sleeplessness began to wear on me, I could feel myself becoming frustrated. However, God graciously allowed me to sense that you were in increasing pain as the morning drew near. Even so, I wish I had been sweeter, more attentive and treated you even more gently. In the wee hours, I set you in your car seat to sleep and you accomplished your longest stretch all night -- 90 minutes.

At 6 a.m., I finally took your temperature. It was 102.1 and the emergency room nurse said you needed to be seen right away. I wouldn't leave the room when they did a spinal tap to find that you had menengitis. Wasn't it kind of our Lord to relieve my anxiety about the proceedure by granting you sleep in that moment? The pain and pressure had been relieved by the needle's penetration, and instantly, you rested.

I was alone, and your initial doctors were cold and vague. Maybe they have to be to get through what they do. You and I were in the Pediatric ICU for 4 or 5 nights -- right over Mother's Day. We listened to Ravel's Pavane for a Dead Princess over and over and over because it was so beautiful. I didn't know the name of the piece until much later. I placed your beautiful birth announcement above your head for all the doctors and nurses who cared for you to see that you had been an answer to prayers; that our God was good, and our God was in control. The specialist thought you might die.

I was glad to have been studying Romans in my BSF class that year, and was somehow comforted by the Truth that this was your suffering to endure and that God was there, and He would see you through where I couldn't help or protect. I felt so helpless, but I also felt so strong.

My favorite first vivid memory of you was as a tiny infant, just able to smile. We were trying to go somewhere, and were probably late. I know I was feeling stressed for time, and wouldn't you know it -- you decided to fill your diaper! As I put you on the changing table and began to clean you up in a manner that must have appeared grudging, you looked at me and smiled in a way that said, "Awe, come'on, Mom...nothin's that bad. Ain't I cute as a button?"

And you know what? I didn't misread you at all! That is exactly who you grew to be. You are the baking soda on my vinegar -- you neutralize me.

When you were just old enough to sleep in a bed, I would check on you at night to find your bare torso covered with stickers -- usually not randomly, but rather in an intricate pattern of circles or starbursts. Later, you left off sleeping with stickers, and moved on to figurines and small stuffed animals. I regularly find a few of them under, above or wrapped up in the covers with you. Daddy reminds me that even in the crib, you always had your "friends" with you: Pooh, Piglet, Eeyore and Tigger.

You are a very joyful girl. I once worried that you were so much so, that you might not have room to regard others. But God has been faithful and honored our efforts to raise you with His Word. You are very compassionate and quick to give of yourself to others. "Look not every man on his own things, but every man also on the things of others." Phil 2:4

I enjoy the way you care for your sisters, big and small.

I enjoy the way you always have a handful of toys with you. I enjoy it now that I understand that that's what it is to be a tactile learner.

I enjoy the way you gasp and proclaim a thing, "glooooooooorious."

I even enjoy, though probably shouldn't, the way you regally carry your nose an inch higher than everyone else.

I enjoy the way you follow Fifi or lead Cuddlebug in delightful, imaginitive play.

I enjoy the way you have taught yourself to draw.

I enjoy the way you initiate a dance with Cuddlebug.

In you, I believe God helped me see that this life is to be relished.

I enjoy you.

I love you.

I can't wait to see who you grow up to be.

I know you will be wonderful.

Happy Birthday, Dumpling.

And the next year, she turned seven!