This time last week, I was wondering if I was really in labor. I thought I was, but I was worried that maybe I wasn't, and if I wasn't, then I might have weeks, months, or years more to go (it really feels that way in the last weeks of pregnancy, doesn't it?).
And now she's here, a week old, and such a treasure. Each one of our births has taught me something, opened my eyes to something God wanted me to see. Molly Jo's birth has taught me that breath is precious, never guaranteed, and that the first cry is a joyous one. I was once again reminded that prayers are answered, and more specifically, my prayers are answered when I cry out in complete faith.
Yesterday, Molly Jo and I visited my Mom. Due to her health, my Mom has been unable to come to us, so we decided to come to her. We had a lovely lunch at Le Madeleine (Mmm, Turkey Bistro Sandwich!) with Poppa, Nana, and Nana's friend Lisa. My dad had to go back to work, but the rest of us went back to the condo and hung out. I took a nap, and when I woke up my Granny was there getting her Molly Jo snuggles for the very first time! Molly Jo is her sixth great-grandchild.
Dad (Poppa) getting his sugars.
Mom (Nana) getting to see Molly Jo for the first time. (I think it's clear that she's smitten!)
Unfortunately, I didn't get a picture of my Granny holding our newest bundle!
Oh friends, look what I captured the other day:
Read my latest entry, Worry or Trust and What Will I Have Done With Them?, over at A Fighting Faith. [Links open in new window.]