“When the night has been too lonely and the road has been too long,

And you think that love is only for the lucky and the strong,

Just remember in the winter, far beneath the bitter snow

Lies the seed that with the sun’s love in the spring becomes the rose.”

I don’t remember much about the winter of 2016. I just remember it wasn’t the greatest time. Things were tumultuous. Things were stressful, and I felt very lost, simultaneously adrift at sea and buried under pressure I couldn’t withstand.

And then one day something felt off. I felt a weird sick feeling that I had only felt three times before.

Nine months later I met my sweet and lovely Tessie. My rose after the long winter of that year. My spring that came in early autumn.

It’s hard to quantify how kids shape our lives and change our lives. Once they are here, it’s hard to believe that they ever weren’t here.

But I do remember.

I remember those early days with her asleep bundled in months worth of hand knitted clothing. I remember her sweet smell, her gentle nature. I remember playing interference for her against some very ungentle but very well meaning older sisters.

I remember that feeling that comes with a new baby – when everything just feels fresh and new. It’s probably hormones, but everything just takes on a feeling of heightened intensity.

And I remember the Cubs winning the World Series.

TJ and I often joke that Magoo and Tessie have completely different parents. Magoo’s parents are always worried about what comes next and how to prepare her while Tessie’s parents know that things aren’t as stressful as they seem at first. Magoo’s parents are always nervous excitement while Tessie’s parents like to just sit back and take her in.. this one who will probably be our last.

Motherhood breaks us and mends us and expands us and fortifies us. Somehow, after all that motherhood has given me, I look at my Tess and see her as my resting place. The one whose sweet smile and huge hugs put me back together when I’m feeling most scattered and broken. The home I always come back to.

I know we can’t expect our kids to heal our wounds, and I know that we absolutely should not ask them to. And yet… she still does that for me daily. She reminds me of all the best of her sisters and takes me back to those years and the sweet memories. She keeps me grounded to the needy years as her sisters are starting to spread their wings.

I met her face to face for the first time three years ago tomorrow. Shortly after she was born, TJ went home to grab some stuff, and she and I laid in my hospital bed while she nursed. I just looked at her pink, soft skin. I breathed her in. I spoke to her.

That hour was just her and me. And that’s how it is a lot these days with everyone else off in their daily lives. And one day, one day too soon, she too will be off and learning and growing and changing.

But for now, for a few precious more years, she’s all mine.

My rose. My gift. Our treasure.