For a long time after Olivia was born, I would see her. This girl that I was “supposed” to have. The girl I didn’t get. The girl I felt was taken from me.
I would look at Olivia and see the girl who would look up to me, the girl who would win the spelling bee, the girl who would make the swim team, the girl who would love nothing more than going shopping with me, the girl who would tell me all about her first love, the girl who would hug me fiercely with tears in her eyes as I dropped her off at college, the girl who would look at me as she walked down the aisle on Matt’s arm, the girl who would let me in the delivery room and let me be one of the first to hold her first-born. I saw that girl everywhere. She haunted me, she made me sad, she made me want, she made me feel as though I had been robbed.
I don’t see her anymore.
I look at Olivia and I see beautiful freckles just like mine. I see gorgeous, thick, brown hair just like mine and Matt’s. I see a girl who adores her family, who tells her Mom every day how much she loves her and showers her with kisses. I see a girl who will always feel good about herself, who will always love me, who will be my little buddy forever.
I see a girl who was born exactly the way she was supposed to, born into the exact family she was meant for. I see a girl who is perfect.
I can tell you, it’s a beautiful realization.