Avery has me under a spell from which I never want to escape.
A touch of her softer than silk fingertips upon my bare leg,
a throaty “Maw-mee” from across the room,
or the koala clench she wields at goodnight,
each brings me to my knee in its own way.
I tremble as I remember the time before she was born, the doubt that would hover around me, seeping into my bones like a damp October morning. I never wished her not to be, but I often wished for more time.
A little more with one child. A little more with Briar. A little more time to prepare.
Here on the other side of worry and wait, I find that she is more.
As Briar was new and miraculous, Avery is familiar and amazing.
She is the essence of evey thing I have ever loved. Her shimmering eyes bear reflections of summers past, late afternoon swims and early morning walks. Her laugh carries echoes of my childhood, the crack of twigs underfoot as we played in the day’s last light. Her determination and her strength take my breath away. Strength of spirit, courage of heart and wisdom of soul.
Avery is my more.