I remember the moment I knew you were coming. It was one day before your due date. I had been having mild contractions for a few days and I had a feeling that it might be the day. Lilah and I lingered in bed as your daddy made breakfast. I snuggled her close, thinking this might be the last morning of just the two of us. That the next morning, she would have to share me with another baby. In that small moment, I knew that my life would be changed forever. I was convinced that I couldn’t possibly love another child as much as I loved Lilah. I worried that I wouldn’t be able to divide my heart between the two of you.

I should never have worried. Minutes after you were born, as I held you to my heart and nursed you for the first time, I realized that I didn’t have to divide my heart into two.

There was enough room. There was enough love.

Amelia Rose. You arrived without the lusty cry that had erupted from your sister’s tiny lungs on her birth day. Wide eyed and peaceful, you were content to just be a part of our little family. To just be. There was a snowstorm as you were born, and the roads to our little town were closed. When it was clear that you and I would be just fine, and that Daddy and Lilah would take good care of us, the midwives who attended your gentle birth braved the roads.

We became a family without any visitors or distractions as the snow continued to fall. In the moments, hours, days that followed, we curled up in front of the fireplace and took you in. Your little fingers and toes, your serious brow, your bald little head, the little pink birth mark between your eyes, the soft moon of your cheek as you nursed.

You were perfect in every way.

The morning after your birth you laughed. It was clear as day. “Ha ha ha” in your tiny little voice. We almost didn’t believe it. One day old, and you had already given us a glimpse of your personality which would emerge in the months to follow. Amelia Rose, Millie, you are such a happy child. Your smile makes me smile. Your hearty laugh is contagious. You remind me daily to find joy in our ordinary life and to wonder at ordinary things.

As I write this, you are napping beside me. Lilah is reading me a book (it’s a story about Autumn, but she has titled it, “Lilah’s Rule Book” and is listing off her rules). I look down at you as you begin to stir. You open your eyes and your face lights up with that gapped-tooth smile. Your cheeks are still rosy from sleep. You squirm until I set you down on the floor so you can chase your big sister down the hallway of this old house. You giggle and look back at me, wobbly on your one year old legs that have just learned how to walk.

The walls creak. Hundred year old brick and mortar. They will soak up this fleeting moment along with me.

Weeks ago, Lilah turned three. Today you are one. No one needs to tell me how quickly these years will pass. I have not yet seen a child of mine grow up, but as you look back at me, I am beginning to see what it will look like.

Amelia Rose, my little Millie, you will always be my joy. Mama loves you.