There was a time when eight weeks were easily counted on two hands and in a glance at a calendar that time would seem no more than a scattering of days on a page. These eight weeks, now, stretch out like a long cat in the sun. My memory is warm and slightly faint, the struggle of the early days blunted and fading, her giggles and smiles blanket them comfortingly.

Watching her awaken to the world is a wondrous experience. Her joy at discovering the smallest of things from the soft touch of a stuffed animal to the piercing shriek of a cry unfolding into a laugh coming up short at her own wide-eyed amazement that the sound slipped out from between her own lips. Legs stretching and pushing as hard as they can to support her weight, you can see her determination and intent to stand as tall as everyone else so that she will not miss a single thing and the frustration that crosses her face when her strength falters and her bottom plunges back down unto the lap of her parents.

My life before Gabriella is quickly receding into the past and I find it increasingly difficult to remember a life without her snuggling deep into my chest or exploring my face with her slender fingers. She is a beautiful person possessed by an uncanny ability to wash away old regrets and bring purpose to my hours.  If this is what eight weeks has brought I can only imagine the gifts to come in time.