Welcome to the World

My cousin told me after meeting her newborn niece Sarah for the first time that she "loved her like she didn't know was possible." And while I kind of agree that at the time it sounded like a cliche thing to say (no offense WB) I could now not agree more.

On Friday, July 25 my first niece was born: Sophia Louise. She is healthy and happy and looks just like my brother. I am overjoyed by her birth. In fact, I am overwhelmed by the emotions I have experienced in the last 72 hours since her birth. Forgetting for a second that I spent more than half my weekend in airports stressed and tired, hungry and anxious, these emotions were different from the ones I have known before. I found myself tearing up when my dad would send me a picture message of "Grandma" holding her. During a short phone conversation with my sister-in-law, I found myself sobbing because little Sophia started to cry. Hearing her 'voice' for the first time, over the phone, over thousands of miles both warmed and broke my heart. It is the sweetest and most tender of times, but it is also the most painful of times. I want to be near her; I want to be with her; I want to hold her tiny hands and kiss her soft head. I want to know her in this fragile, helpless and adorable stage. But I don't get to. And that breaks my heart in more ways than I thought it would. I've known for quite some time that she will only live in Las Vegas for a few months; then she and her family will move across the globe to Korea. That's a fact of life, a fact of life in the Air Force. But now that she has been born that fact is more like a tiny knife piercing my saddened heart. I am overjoyed by her life, by her presence in our lives yet, am saddened by her departure, by her proximity.

I haven't met her yet, and probably won't for a few months but I love her...more than I thought I would. I love her in a way I don't think I love anything else. It's not in the same way in which I love my parents, my brothers, my dog, my friends or even my boyfriend(s) of past and present. It transcends that. The weird thing is, I can't explain it. But I can feel it. And it is so powerful. I find myself looking at my blackberry throughout the day just to see her beautiful round face. I talk about her to people with such pride and such joy; the same kind of pride once reserved only for my dog. I adore her. And yet, I do not know her. It is abstract in many ways, yet palpable in so many others.

My mom has told me for years that I cannot comprehend the kind of love you have for your own children. She always jokes that I should think about the love I have for my dog and multiply that by 10,000 and then even still, I won't understand the kind of love she has for me, or my brother I'm certain, has for his newborn daughter. And although I haven't yet met Sophia, I think I'm starting to comprehend just how strong that love is and can be. Once I do finally meet her, I'm sure this love will only multiply by the thousands.