Perfectly and Wonderfully Made | Previous Challenge Entry

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TITLE: Perfectly and Wonderfully Made | Previous Challenge Entry
By Anna Raymond
08/26/09
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I confessed to my husband that I was guilty of being a wishful thinker. Long before I met him and a lot longer before we met our son, I would look at mothers struggling with their little "butter-ball" babies on their hips, huffing and puffing and saying at the same time, "You are just the cutest thing in the world." I never thought so. I always wished for a slender, light, petite baby. Our baby would have his daddy’s eyes and my mouth and nose. He would only want me and hardly smile at anyone accept his parents. When it was his nap time, all he would need was to be fed and snuggled and he would be out in a wink. That would make him the cutest.
Then he came along. He was only the size of a pea when we first knew he was there. Nine months and eleven days later, I couldn't even look at myself. There goes the wish of a petite baby...still, I was optimistic and told people I was blessed to have a big, healthy baby. I thought I was going to die by the time I had to push him out. I desperately strained to see what he looked like. They did not hand him directly to me because the cord was wrapped around his neck and he needed immediate attention. He was ok—stunned—but ok. All I knew so far is that he was alert and he had dirty blonde hair.
Finally, I held him. He looked at me with very wide blue eyes. His eyes were blue, not brown. He grimaced and showed off his dimple. A dimple! How precious! His complexion was so smooth while I had prepared myself for a red-faced newborn. That face seemed to say to me, “Look at me, Mama. I'm perfect." He was.
Even now, his belly hangs out from over his pants and his thighs are so big his daddy can't get his hand all the way around one of them. At three and a half months old he is in nine month size clothes and in need of a bigger car seat and a more stable crib. But, he is still a sweet little baby, and that I know when I look into that perfect face. Those dark blue eyes, those eyes I was wishing to be brown, harmonized perfectly with his small button nose. His nose is neither from me or his father...it's his. Then his mouth....oh! his mouth! His mouth never seems to stop smiling. Even when he cries, it hardly screws over...only from it comes a heart-breaking sound to say, "Mama, come here. I need you."
I needed him. I look at him and I know that God knew what He was doing. I could never have created him myself and have him be more perfect than he is now. I know that God formed every part of him with me and my husband in mind.
I am very thankful we did not get a tiny baby. We did not get a brown-eyed boy with his mother’s nose. We did not get the shy, calm baby that slept without effort. No, but we got the best!

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