Happy Birthday, Cuddlebug!

I remember that while I was pregnant a little more than 4 years ago today, my glucose testing had come back with a diagnosis of "borderline" gestational diabetes (GD). I could have guessed it really. Fifi was 9 lbs., 9 oz., and Nurse Ratchett spent 10 minutes scolding me after delivery about how likely it was that I would have trouble with blah blah blah and it would happen around yada yada yada. That's really what I heard because I had just given birth to a mammoth Eskimo, by way of salad tongs after pushing hard for more than 2 hours!

Then Dumpling was 11 lbs. So, yes...probably some sugar problems going undiagnosed. Maybe I was being tested just a hair too early? I don't know, but this time it was detected and I was referred to a specialist. The danger in GD, Cuddlebug, was that you might grow too big, too fast -- and disproportionately so. Your lung development might have also been retarded -- that's bad. You need those to breathe.

Left untreated, GD might have caused you to die inside me. Without a doctor's wisdom at delivery, you might have been so large that your shoulders could get stuck and you would be trapped in the birth canal. So I went to the specialist, even though I felt like a birthing superstar, having already delivered your two giant sisters without surgery.

I didn't like the specialist from the moment I met him. He was a walking textbook, it was clear. He just did what the book said to do; not a lot of human reason going on, in my opinion. He talked about checking your size with an ultrasound first. If that showed you to be big, he would want to do an amniocentesis to check your lung development. If your lungs were good, we would induce and labor toward a normal delivery. If your lungs were still immature, we would wait and c-section you later.

I couldn't believe what I was hearing on my first visit! Then he explained that he wouldn't let me deliver you if you looked to be bigger than 8 lbs., 8 oz.! I laughed and implored him to change his mind because I had never given birth to a baby that small. I was sure he wanted to cut me open -- one way or another. Your due date was August 3rd. Our sonogram with Dr. Textbook would be roughly 3 weeks before that.

Now, I realized even then that women have c-sections all the time, but not me! I had never yet had any surgery and had no reasonable hope for help afterward with your sisters (then) 7 and 2, and you. Daddy is very supportive, but works a straight-commission job. No work -- eventually, no money. He just can't stay home with me for 6 weeks of recovery.

So, I had no peace. No peace about surgery. No peace about going against medical advice. I didn't know which way to go, and after days and days of prayerfully struggling with fear and doubt and confusion, I arrived at that place of yielding -- of resignation where I asked the Lord to just, "take me by the shoulders and point me in the direction I should go." I was scared of making the wrong decision, and He -- Creator of the universe and everything in it -- honored that humility in little 'ole me.

Cuddlebug, you are my own personal little miracle. He didn't part a sea or raise anyone from the dead for me to witness first-hand. He didn't need to because everything He did do was a confirmation of His omniscience and sovereignty. It was all in the little details.

On the eve of the sonogram appointment, something happened that never happened to me before. My water broke. My water broke and you were going to be born! Really, it was too early, but that fact was not within my control. After a couple hours sleep, we called for a friend to come babysit your sisters, and Daddy and I headed to the hospital in the early morning. Labor progression was a little slow; there was much discussion and eventually a small dose of pitocin, blood sugar checks at intervals and the clean epideral I enjoyed with Dumpling. Sometime after that, I had a thought and shared it with your father, "We're going to deliver this baby in the 3 o'clock hour because that is when my appointment was set for the dreaded sonogram."

A few restful hours later, I sensed it was time and told Daddy to find the nurse. He did. I was. They called, and the Ob came running. You only required 2 pushes and you flew from my womb at 7 lbs., 15 oz. There was much jubilation amongst the doctor and nurses because you, my baby, were a beautiful bright pink and scored an unheard-of "10" on the apgar scale!

When I asked about your lungs, "Are her lungs o.k.?" They asked me if I couldn't hear you crying? You were crying as healthy as any baby ever did. You were 36 1/2 weeks gestation -- 3 1/2 weeks early. But to the glory of God, you were developed. You were perfect. You were RIGHT ON TIME! 3:23 p.m. I imagine that might have been about the time Dr. Textbook would have been saying, "Oh, this baby is already in the 8 pound range. We'd better do that amnio. Nurse will be in, in a moment, with the paperwork and release forms."

Did you catch what the Lord did there, Cuddlebug? He took the decision from me! He answered my prayers over and above anything I thought to ask.

Now it is four years later and so much has happened and there is always something new to remember. Today, I'm remembering you.

Truth be told, you were fairly small and raw looking to us when we brought you home. We used to say that you weren't fully cooked. As you grew, you nearly killed me with a full year's worth of chronic sleep deprivation and worry over your bladder reflux; but we've now outgrown them both, so who cares?!

Of course, then you spent a couple of years trying to kill me with your stealth-like, determined will; but I suspect in the end it will be the character quality that lets you stand strong and solid in what you know to be right. I'm pretty sure that will ring true, so I endure the "cross" of it with the joy of anticipating what it will bring.

Today you are four years old. I've only really begun to know you, and I like you. You've forever been soft and cuddly. You used to crawl into our bed in the wee-hours of the morning and then stroke my arm until I awoke when you saw the first light of dawn. I know that every 5th phrase out of my mouth to you is, "No thumbs, Cuddlebug. The dentist says so," and I'm sorry about that. I'm only doing what I think is important for your good health. I'd like it very much if you would take charge of that responsibility now that you're so grown up.

Your appearance can be deceiving. You look a little waif-like; you're slender and tall with small, sharp features. But in reality you're pretty loud when you need to be heard above your sisters' height, and you're strong enough to be the most athletic of the group. You love to jump off things and you've perfected the forward roll all by yourself. I'm impressed.

Your daddy and I are really tickled at what a true apprentice you are. Most little girls enjoy pretending to do grown-up chores with Mom and Dad, but you are really interested in learning; even when we say it's not the time to do, you still want to observe. And you are very observant. Daddy remembers the time this spring when you were helping him bag leaves. When the container was full, he had trouble pulling the bag from the can and without a word, you ran inside, retrieved the flour canister from the pantry and a spoon from the drawer. You had seen your father use these tools to loosen a garbage bag from its can in the kitchen a week before. How impressed was Daddy! You are so thoughtful. So willing. So thorough. So smart.

I'm glad I didn't resist your desire to learn to read. Teaching you this young is against my better judgment, but we'll keep going as long as you are interested and succeeding.

I laugh when you make that playful grimace that pushes your lower jaw out as if to clench your teeth -- you look just like Grandma when you do that.

You're a good pancake flipper and you make pretty patterns with the silverware when it's your turn to set the table.

I thought it was wonderful the way Dumpling tied your swing to her's last Christmas, and thereby taught you to pump yourself. I like to watch you go high!

I remember the delight I experienced watching you skip -- especially when you figured out how to skip on both legs instead of the strange, off-beat skip of just one side. I love the way you thrust your knees high to do it. It is all so deliberate. And adorable.

I'll never forget the time your sisters came running and shrieking to me because they found a big, disgusting bug in the playroom and when I got there, you had your shoe in your hand having already slammed it on the bug and were now running your Fisher Price vacuum over it!

I love your little giggle. I love when, through your laughter, you say, "Do dat again."

I'm grateful for the strong bond you have with each of your sisters and I try not to be envious of the way you look to capable Fifi for some of the things I could be doing for you.

I almost cried when you so sweetly asked me a few months ago, "Mommy? Am I pretty?" Yes, my darling. I behold your beauty.

I believe that through you, God is teaching me about the tenderess of love.

I love you.

I enjoy you.

I can't wait to see who you become when you are grown; I know you will be great.

I believe you will be rewarded with many "bebes," and that your children will arise and call you blessed.

Happy Birthday, Cuddlebug!

And the next year, she turned five!

Happy Birthday, Fifi!

11 years ago this night, two days away from your due date, your Daddy came home on a Friday evening and plopped onto the couch with a low mumble, "Oh, I'm so tired. Please don't go into labor tonight."

Fifteen minutes later I felt a new sensation. You were coming -- ready or not.

We didn't actually leave for the hospital for another six hours, and during that time your Daddy scurried to pack up our boom box (before the tiny MP3) and several of my favorite cds. I had to laugh when I caught him trying to finish his Partners in Birth book -- he wasn't more than 1/2 way through. Tooooooo late!

It was so exciting! I went the very conventional route with hospital and epidural, nurses and doctors and monitors. Unbeknownst to me at the time, OBs and anethesiologists seem to conspire to secretly relax the laboring mother -- especially if it's a first delivery. My epidural, like most others, was chock full of unnecessary narcotics that made me feel a little "loopy," and rendered me woefully ineffective in my effort to help you down the birth canal. In the end, my doctor retrieved you with a very large salad tonge-looking instrument called a forcepts. You came out purple, and had to be revived. You were 9 lbs., 9 oz. and had the sweetest cry I'd ever heard -- so demure, so quiet -- all girl.

I don't know what I expected you to look like, but I didn't expect you to look so completely unlike me! I hadn't given it much thought that your daddy's dark skin, eyes and hair would prove dominant in the gene pool, and here you were: dark, swollen, and somewhat smooshed from the trama of delivery. Do you want to know my first thought when they put you in my arms? Really? I thought to myself, "Oh! Oh. Well...I don't care what she looks like, I'm going to love this baby anyway." I thought you looked like an Eskimo (which would be fine if you were an Eskimo), while Daddy likened you to an angry little Buddah.

I remember when they discharged us, we thought, "They're just going to let us take her away? We don't have to fill out an application, or take a class or get a license or anything?" Driving you home was painfully slow. Everything we did in those early weeks was done with excrutiating care. You were a glass doll, after all.

You have always been very intuitive. It's no exaggeration to say that when you were an infant in the crib, you would awaken within minutes of me if I thought about you too loudly from my bed. We didn't always have a good time with the sleep deprivation, but thankfully you don't remember any of that.

You know that in your first years, your daddy and I did not know the Lord. We did our worldly, psychological best with you then, and frankly the fruits were sour; there was a spirit of anger and rage that I was passing on to you. I still struggle with it occassionally, but can see that by His mercy, you have been delivered and your sisters have been spared.

I am so thankful for you. Through you, He stripped the blinders from my eyes to be able to acknowledge His existence! I had been taught not to see Him in the trees or the mountains, the stars or any other part of His creation. It wasn't until I realized that my love for you was bigger than myself -- flowing from Someone greater, and painfully too much to contain, that I came to know the Lord.

So tomorrow at exactly 1:12 Texas time, you are 11 years old. Your father and I are blessed by all of our children, but today is a time to talk about you: our first born, our "guinea pig," our munchkin, the sister-mentor, our helper, our "loovley dauhtuh," the one to whom so much is given and the one of whom so much is expected.

My favorite memories of you are many; let me name a few through the years. When you were an infant, you would chase us around the house, slapping a little book in your hand as you crawled on the hardwood floors. We read to you a lot. From those years, Daddy especially likes the memory of you insisting that strangers in the store respond to you when you greeted them with the only word you knew, "Hi!"

As a small girl, you desperately wanted to play the violin like your cousins, and spent 2 years pretending with your play mop on your shoulder, and play broom as your bow. At 5 1/2 we began lessons, and by about 8 years old, I was humbled to watch you move past me and into areas in which I could not keep up. I used to examine your hands while you slept, struck by the fact that those little fingers could do something so wonderful that I hadn't taught you to do and that I hadn't mastered myself. The whole family is blessed by the hard work, skill and perseverence that you have exercised in your music.

When it was time to read, you worked hard but found it trying. I didn't let you hit that wall, but rather pushed you over it -- and what joy you found on the other side. We were fairly young in our walk, and were moved by your desire to read the bible in turn, during evening devotions. I have always said that God honored our efforts to teach you to read because our motivation was to see you open His Word. Your love for reading has sparked an interest in us all for children's literature and your favorite subject, history.

You are a wonderful student, interested in learning new things, and eager to share your experience with others. You own your education, and I don't see that much of it has been wasted on forgetting. You inspire me!

If I wasn't so grateful to be your mother, I might find myself envious of your friends. What a friend you are to those who have chosen to get to know you! You are kind and compassionate, introspective and humble, fun and imaginative. Your intelligent humor and fierce loyalty make you a treasure to us all. I never knew anyone like you when I was 10...oh, sorry -- 11.

I am especially thankful for the way you've handled your God-ordained privileges and responsiblities as the oldest daughter. You know your sisters love you like crazy and look up to you in everything. Your attentiveness to their stories and reports validates them; your time to initiate an afternoon of dramatic play is a delight to them both -- and to me. Do you know that sometimes I stop down my work and cry for joy as I watch you three play together from the kitchen window? I thank the Lord because He has made you a better big sister than me, and my cup overflows.

I enjoy the rest I feel knowing that you are walking in Truth, with and without your parents' tutelage.

I enjoy the way you read a good book twice.

I enjoy recognizing the way you bloom into your abilities apart from me.

I enjoy the volumes and volumes of long hoop-skirted women with fancy hair and accessories you've drawn over the years.

I enjoy watching your fascination with costumes becoming a part of something bigger. Someday, you'll sew those dresses and make that movie!

I enjoy remembering my own childhood when I see you making plans -- big plans!

I enjoy the way you sing wherever you go, as if no one and everyone is listening.

I enjoy your distinctive giggle, and that you're a good sport when we tease you about your tiny "mouse" ears.

I enjoy your thoughtfulness in helping me before I can think to ask, and your capable hands in service to the family that values you so highly.

In you, I believe God helped me see that life is eternal.

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, Fifi!

And the next year, she turned twelve!

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!