Queen Reen

This piece is 9 (months)weeks in the making.

9 Motzei Shabbosim since you made me a Mommy.

I was waiting to sit and write this at just the right moment. Silly me—nothing is predictable anymore, in the best, most life-altering way.

Earlier on, times that I anticipated would still be my own were hijacked: a random need to be fed even though you were just fed, spit-up, a diaper change, or simply wanting to be held. If we left the room, you were aware. I wasn’t expecting you to be as alert, KH.

I wasn’t anticipating the exhaustion on those nights when I wished you would just fall asleep after that third feeding “top-off.”

I couldn’t comprehend the animalistic pang of hunger you seem to feel when you are hungry.

I didn’t realize how bath time would make you feel more out of body than any other activity—I never wanted you to feel pain, I just wanted to clean between those crevices.

Nor was I expecting that smile.

Laugh.

Be this gorgeous.

Seeing you react toward Tatty and me is the most indescribable form of nachas I could have imagined.

When I found out we were having a girl, my Instagram algorithm feed was en pointe. A post that resonated with me said, “Having a daughter will challenge you more than a son—a daughter will watch your every move. She’ll drink in your mannerisms and actions, your merits and flaws. A daughter is a mirror.”

You challenge me as a person, and I am already grateful.

From the moment you were born, we became a new unit—that much more wholly a family.

I’m privileged to finally write this piece.

This is my pièce de résistance.

Thank you, Rina, for being the ultimate bracha.