When you talk or write about your kids, it all sounds so normal. Yesterday, I glimpsed Emily's little leg through the front window as Grammy carried her up to the house. I helped Emily set up a tea party with her stuffed panda using her new table and chairs she got for Christmas and her wooden stir fry set we brought her from San Diego. Emily helped me put the veggies in the pan for dinner. Right before bed she put a little hand on each of my cheeks, pulled my face toward her, kissed me on the chin with a "mmmmmmwah!", then looked at me (through her Elton John sunglasses) and said "Mama!". To people who aren't me, those events sound normal. I don't have the words to describe how my heart leapt at my first sight of her after 4 days, even if it was just her leg. I can't explain how proud and amazed I was, just to see her hold a wooden red pepper piece to her mouth and pretend to nibble like a little adult, or how adorably hilarious I thought it was to watch her sneaking pieces of spinach and pretending to sprinkle milk from her cup onto our dinner as I assembled it in the pan. And words definitely can't capture the teary-eyed puddle I dissolved into when she kissed my chin and called me mama. At least not my words.
So that is why I wish I were a poet. There have been people over the years who seem to be able to go beyond a simple description to capture exactly what a moment feels like. But I am not one of those people, so all I can say is that I missed Emily like crazy, and I'm so proud and happy to be her mommy. I'll leave it to people more skilled with words than I to capture the enormity of those feelings.