Many babies, on emerging from their mother’s womb, resemble baby birds. Mouth agape, wide eyes – searching.
When our daughter was born, nine years ago today, it didn’t take us long to nick name our precious baby girl, sweet bird.
The name stuck. Her sweetness has only multiplied as we watch her grow and blossom, develop her own wings.
Every year on our children’s birthdays I get out the photo albums and decorate the refrigerator door with the birthday child’s pictures. This year I went a little nuts, covering every spot on the fridge door, weepy and teary pouring over the captured moments of our sweet bird’s nine years on this planet.
You forget, at least I do, that they were ever that little. You forget the bad hair cuts, the cute outfits, as well as the mismatched ones, naked moments in the kitchen.
We all say how fast time goes and we all feel the magnitude of that remark, but when you stop and look at photograph after photograph of past memories, both remembered and forgotten, you feel it in your bones. As you wipe the tears and can’t keep from smiling how your sweet little bird is no longer little but definitely still quite sweet.
by J.G. McGlothern