Nine

I can hardly believe my daughter is 9 months old. It's incredible how quickly these past 9 months have flown by, especially compared to the months preceding them. Or perhaps it's not the speed of time so much as the enjoyment of it. I love being a mother. Except for occasional reminders from friends who are still enjoying life without children, I hardly remember mine. Miss M is my morning sunshine and evening delight.

Does this mean my transformation is complete? If so, I couldn't pinpoint the moment it happened. Perhaps it was the day I put an entirely pink load of laundry in the dryer -- clothes that were pink when I purchased them. (The horror!) Or perhaps it was the day I first extracted one of her boogers with my bare finger. (The satisfaction!) Maybe it was during those first nights at home, when she was wide-eyed awake, and we were bleary-eyed enthralled by her every newborn move. Or maybe it was the first moment our eyes met -- both pairs dark and puffy from the strain of labor.

I love my baby girl. I would give my life for her in an instant. And I hope, when she grows up, she knows it.