January, when the world around me is devoid of color, when everything is shades of gray, when the temperature plummets and takes my will to live.
That's January.
Or it was. Until last year.
Because last year, on January 9, the sweetest little girl was handed to me as I lay in a hospital bed, blissfully feeling no pain, only happiness.
And now, January is color and spunk and joy and kisses to me.
I can hardly believe she's one.
Last year, she could only lay in my arms.
Now she can walk and talk and get into all sorts of trouble.
(If I had the energy to make a thought balloon, it would say, "What's that? What's that over there? Can I eat it? Can I wear it? Is it dangerous?")
Last year, she could only be amazed by the blur of motion and noise that were her siblings.
Now, she is completely captivated by their antics ...
and their love.
Last year, she had a Daddy who was wrapped around her little finger.
Now ... well, she has a Daddy who is so whipped, he can hardly stand it.
Teyla, my prayer for you is that your heart for God is as wild as your hair, that your strength of will also means strength of character, that your inquisitiveness and mirth will make you into a smart, joyful, mighty, warrior princess for The One who gave you to us.
You are my delight, sweet one.
You are my springtime in the middle of winter, my smile in the night.
You are so loved.
