To my daughter, on the day of her birth:
Welcome to the world, my little storm child. Conceived in a storm and born in a storm ... I should have known that you were on your way when I felt the winds pick up yesterday morning. You woke me before dawn with your movements, and we snuck out together to watch the sunrise while Connor and Anna were still sleeping. We were on the same bench by the shore that I was sitting on when I first knew you were a girl, a few days ago. I cannot explain that strange certainty in any reasonable or adequate way, but I knew right then, in that moment, that you were not a son, but my beloved daughter. I wish I'd known too that sitting there watching the sea as the clouds rolled in and the sun came up yesterday morning would be the last dawn we'd share in the same body, but I don't think it made it less special to be surprised by your arrival that night.
Perhaps you will understand all of this better one day when you have a child of your own, when your belly starts to swell and you feel new life quicken within you. Whether or not you planned for it, I think when you first feel your own son or daughter stir within your womb you will know it was right. At least, that is how it was with me, with your father and I on the Isle of Mist at the temple, me lying on my back in the wet grass and him sitting beside me. Up until that moment, I wasn't sure I wanted my life to change. I won't lie to you, my sweet, for I would rather you always know the truth of your circumstances. I wasn't certain I wanted you then, in those early days. You were an unexpected blessing, and one it took some time for me to make my peace with. A lot changed in that moment I felt you first move inside me though. Not everything ... I still had my doubts and worries. I still do, though they are different doubts. I gaze down at you now and worry that I won't be able to do this, or that some cruel twist of fate will tear us apart. I worry too that you are far more than I deserve, but I no longer doubt that I want you.
It is a struggle to find the right words as I write this. One glimpse of you has stolen all of my words. I thought I had known enough silence to last a lifetime during those years all alone on Alindor, but when I hold you in my arms and feel your heartbeat and the warmth of your skin, and the world holds still for the two of us, it is a different and delightful kind of silence. How can I capture in a phrase the beauty of your tiny, delicate features? How can I write how my heart swells with tender pride to feel the strength with which you grasp my finger? The only word I could find to give adequate voice to these and a hundred other thoughts was the word I found myself using over and over again as I held you in my arms for the first time: perfect. There is no other way to put it, my darling. You are perfect in every way I could have conceived, and so many I never expected.
I wonder how old you will be when you read this, if you ever do. I wonder if we will still know each other then, and if we do what kind of life we will have shared. I hope you have a life full of joy and love, but also one not empty of a few tears and a little hardship. That seems like a strange wish, I know, but perhaps you will come to understand this too. I want you to experience everything that life has to offer, and to be the beautiful, vivacious, strong, independent, passionate woman I know you can become. You are already some of those things, my beloved girl--beautiful, for one--but to gain true strength of character, to learn the value of joy and love and friendship, I fear you will also have to know sadness and adversity and loneliness at times. Do not be afraid of these times or shy away from them, and most of all don't lose hope. Have faith in yourself, and know that somewhere deep within you lies the courage to endure all of the trials life will bring you. Remember that there is beauty in the storm, and like the storm, many of the best things in life are unpredictable, challenging, and impossible to control.
Most of all, I hope that no matter what happens, you will never have to ask yourself whether I loved you, but just in case (and because even the best divination can do no more than offer a glimpse of what is yet to come), let me say now: yes, oh yes. I loved you, my beautiful daughter, even on this, the very first day we have been able to look into each other's eyes. When you didn't cry when you first came out of my womb, I thought my heart had stopped. And then I reached for you, and felt your tiny body against mine, and heard you take your very first breath and make your very first sound, and my heart started again but everything else had changed in an instant. I thought I loved you a little when you first moved within me, and I knew I loved you when you were turning lazy somersaults in my belly later on, or kicking me as I made The Curvaceous Lady sing for you. And yet those feelings pale in comparison to the overwhelming surge of emotion that swept over me like a tide the moment I looked upon you and held you to my breast, close to my heart.
I sit here and write this in awe. I am awed by the miracle of your presence, by the way your ears taper to little points, by the simple fact that you have ten fingers and ten toes, each ending in a perfect little pink nail (trust me on this one—I know, as I have counted them each dozens of times already!). I am awed by the way when I speak to you, you are already aware of my voice, and when I look down at you, sometimes you seem to look right back at me as if you know who I am.
I hope you have a wonderful life, my beautiful little daughter. I hope I am there to share in it, embracing the good and bad alike, watching you take your first steps into this big, fearsome world. I hope I am able to watch you grow and change with the years, both in body and spirit, becoming more with each challenge you face with open arms and a warm heart. I hope, I hope, I hope ...
And yet ... because life can be cruel and unexpected, and because though I hope that you will never have to ask yourself whether I loved you I refuse to leave this up to chance, let me say now, again: yes. Oh yes. A thousand times yes, my daughter. Whatever else may come, know that I held you on this very first day of your life, of our life together, and loved you with all my heart.
Your mother,
Jaelle
