Lyla really loves being tightly swaddled (hence the nickname Burrito). She has spent most of her time so far wrapped up in her blankets with her adorable, purple knit hat on and so I don't get to see much of her other than her face. So when I change her I love to spend a little time looking her over, her tiny little body, her long frog legs, her shoulders and neck, they're all so... amazing. Here's a picture of her tiny little wrinkly hand. I think the hands on newborns are the pinnacle of their formation. They are so small, barely bigger than a quarter, but they are perfectly detailed down to her tiny little finger nails. I look at her hands and I can simultaneously know her as the hidden being that Katherine has carried for the past nine months, so present and constantly interacting, pushing and reacting, resting against my hand yet removed and unknown, unseen but imagined and as my daughter real and present, sitting perfectly folded in my hands fitting so snugly and folding into all her bends so well that it seems like my hands have been waiting to hold her my whole life. Man.
(this was going to be a short post, I swear)
I appreciate those of you who have stuck with me as I rattle on and on pouring out my thoughts and inundating you with my pure and unbridled fascination with Lyla. I'd apologize for my sentimentality but I can't help it; this is the most beautiful and romantic thing I've ever experienced. Sitting here in a hospital, watching the love of my life holding the love of my life as they both sleep peacefully is pure and simply joy. My heart has swollen and I feel like Don Quixote, the musical version from Man of La Mancha when he sings upon meeting Aldonza for the very first time. I just looked up the lyrics again and they say it perfectly:
I have dreamed thee too long,
Never seen thee or touched thee.
But known thee with all of my heart.
Half a prayer, half a song,
Thou hast always been with me,
Though we have been always apart.
I see heaven when I see thee, Dulcinea,
And thy name is like a prayer
An angel whispers...
If I reach out to thee,
Do not tremble and shrink
From the touch of my hand on thy hair.
Let my fingers but see Thou art warm and alive,
And no phantom to fade in the air.
I have sought thee, sung thee,
Dreamed thee, Dulcinea!
Now I've found thee,
And the world shall know thy glory,