My light

“Mommy, I love you,” she says with her piercing blue eyes beaming.

She smiles with her whole face. The perfectly perched freckles on the bridge of her nose dance with the crinkle of her smile. Her eyes open wide, but squinting. Her mouth forms the prettiest curl that meets two perfect dimples on each side.

“I love you, too Ava,” I tell her. My heart aches because I love her so much.

“I love you more.” Her sing-song response fills my heart.

“I don’t see how that’s possible.” I really don’t.

I fell in love with Ava from the day I saw that plus sign on the pregnancy test. It was an early morning one weekday before work. For the past couple of weeks, I had been very tired. My breasts were tender and it hurt to wear a bra. After trying for a year, I thought, “Could this be it? Could we have finally done it?”

Chuck waited patiently while I took the test. We left it on the bathroom sink and sat on the edge of the bathtub together.

“How long does it take?” he said nervously.

“Just five minutes or so, I’m not really sure,” I said looking over the instructions for the millionth time.

But it didn’t even take five minutes. That little plus sign beamed as bright as the blue eyes I would meet seven months later.

I squeeled. We hugged. There were a few tears of joy. And then we went off to work.

Over the next few weeks, I fell in love with her even more. She fluttered like a butterfly when I sang to her before she was born.

She turns five in November. She still flutters, but now wears a tiara and plastic heels. She is lovely and light and the best child I could have ever hoped for.