Keira is now 10 days new. And she just hit her one-week anniversary as a Lucas. My heart is full.
I am a mother. I've yearned for this for 11 years, ever since I fell in love with my tiny newborn niece, Haylee, on April 22, 1999. Five years later, I was married, and another six years later, I finally brought home my own bundle of joy. And now, at least a dozen times a day, I look at the darling in my arms and say to myself in wonder, "I'm holding a baby right now! And I get to keep her!"
Expected: How fun it would be to hear people say "your baby."
Unexpected: The jolt I felt the first time someone said "your daughter."
Expected: That being a new mother feels something like falling in love for the first time.
Unexpected: The euphoria I feel every minute. The whole world looks brighter, newer. I'm full of creative ideas and overflowing with inspiration (if only I had a spare minute to follow through on any of them). I half expect to see little cartoon birds lifting the bed covers each morning while singing mice lay out our outfits for the day.
Expected: That I'd be very, very tired from the feedings every two hours.
Unexpected: How little I care about being tired. I'd rather be tired. I love being tired. After six years of being well rested but empty handed, I'm ready to be physically exhausted with a cuddly infant in my arms.
Expected: That Travis would be a wonderful dad all over again, just like he's been to Jeremy.
Unexpected: How quickly he fell in love with Keira Jane. "I had no idea," he said to me the other day. "About what? How cute she'd be?" I asked. "About all of it," he said.
Expected: That there'd be lots and lots of laundry.
Unexpected: How much I love folding baby clothes. (Just don't ask if any of the grown-up clothes around here have been laundered in the last two weeks.)

Expected: That there'd be a learning curve as I adjust to being a new mom. I'm not the fastest diaper changer in the West, not by long shot. (I've been known to go through three new diapers during one changing session, thanks to Keira's air-exposure-pee-reflex. But Travis has the record with four.) Nor do I have the onesie wrestling down quite yet. (Slipping a wriggling, floppy newborn into a tiny, form-fitting, fabric tube should be an Olympic sport.)
Unexpected: How much I already know from years of watching sisters and sisters-in-law, friends, and neighbors with their children. It appears I've been a sponge for the last 10 years, quietly gathering everyone else's best ideas and learning from their experiences.
Expected: That I'd be grateful to my baby's birth parents.
Unexpected: How deeply I love, admire, and respect my baby's birthmom. How fervently I pray that she will have absolutely everything she wants and needs out of life, that she will be happy, that she will be treasured and loved by all who know her. How I hope for every happiness for her birthdad, too.
Expected: That being jolted awake every two hours by a crying infant would wreak havoc with my sleep habits.
Unexpected: How vividly I remember all of my dreams. I usually remember dreams only occasionally, but now I enjoy the pleasure of clearly recalling three or four weird dreams every night! (Only one so far has involved misplacing the baby.)
Expected: That new babies bring joy and wonder with them right from the start.
Unexpected: The outpouring of gifts, visitors, well-wishes, and more from friends, family, and even strangers who are sharing in our happiness. (For just one wonderful example, visit The Daily Trumpet to see what Wendy and her cohorts put together for baby Keira.) I wish every baby born on this earth could be greeted with such a celebration.
Expected: That being a new mother would change my life entirely.
Unexpected: That I still feel exactly like me. I think, all this time, I was imagining an enormous, transformative change to come over me—that a pillar of light would rain down from heaven, and I'd be endowed with motherly wisdom, power, and instant immunity to all disgusting bodily liquids.
Yes, the change is and will be total, but it hasn't been an overwhelming or sudden shift in the fabric of my very existence. It's been quiet and gradual. It feels as comfortable as slipping into a soft, fluffy robe that fits like a dream and that I never, ever want to take off.
Photos taken by Travis with his dad's vintage Polaroid Land Camera and then scanned.