Today I looked at pictures of a friend's (or perhaps more of a friend-of-friend's) baby who died as a newborn last year. She had four teeny little toes on each foot and they were beautiful, perfect little toes. I saw these pictures last year, but cried just as much this time to look at them. But I realized that this time these tears aren't just over a friend's pain, but at the sheer, astonishing beauty of that little, little girl's "imperfect" body. Toes, fingers, tiny little mouth. I don't know how else to say it than that they were beautiful and perfect; although her parents must have suffered (and still suffer) so much at her loss, i think they were filled with love and wonder at her and I can see why.
And it makes me cry now when I look at my own sweet baby snoozing away on my chest, not because she is "whole," or even just because I have a baby while others do not, but because her life is beautiful in a way i never realized before. Not just cute, but astonishingly precious in those fingers and toes and nose and mouth and cheeks, no matter the shape.
I took many pictures of my curious, bright-eyed littlest girl this morning, but this one conveys best what I am marveling at, I think:
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