Happy Easter, Smoochie!

Three Horney revelers up there.
Last Easter Sunday, you stretched against those flowers on my shirt, 22 weeks in my belly and I FOOLISHLY imagined myself halfway through my pregnancy. 

But as any mom knows, ‘halfway’ through a pregnancy doesn’t happen until about 37 weeks, when body parts are blowing up and you sleep absolutely never.
Anyways, there you are, my own spring chicken. Expanding under my Easter best.

One year later, my chubby little friend, I missed most of the sermon this morning because of your insistent chatter, and also because I still haven’t put you in the church nursery (I know, I know, get over it, Jessie.) You wore your own flowered sundress, and a purple headband, and white sandals too big for your tiny feet that simply do not grow (You will probably be very short, daughter. My apologies.)

We LONGED for you, Smooch, and now here you are. I cannot stop being amazed. And I love being your mom. Even when you scream in your bed at night, and even when you get poop all over my clean sheets, and even when you make me miss church, I LOVE BEING YOUR MAMA.

He is Risen Indeed, Clara Horney, and on this fine spring day, 
I am thankful that God gave me you. 
I love you!


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