It’s been a while since I wrote. The last time this much time went by without a post, we had lost Lorenzo. I wasn’t sure I’d ever write again, much less return to such a public space. But I did, and it helped. You helped.

This time, I haven’t written because another amazing creature is in the world. Nearly two months ago, we met her and saw instantly that she was entirely her own person. Not in anyone’s shadow. Not a mini me or a mini Ryan (though sometimes their resemblance is uncanny). To us, she is all her own. A new soul we have the honor to shepherd. She is strong as I knew her to be when she was still inside. She smiles. She is peace and joy and love.

Her birth was healing, a word I once doubted could ever apply. “Healed.” No, never. But “healing.” Yes. She arrived later than expected, but smoothly, calmly, positively. Our midwife was there throughout. Ryan made me laugh, bless him. And she was already there, too, her steady heartbeat filling the room. Before we knew it I was shaking again, like I did last time, when my nurse told me it was a good sign—that things were changing, that the baby was coming.

This time, when the baby came, she came with cries. Her open hand spread against my chest like any creature emerging from water and clutching dry land. She was out and live and warm and squirming. And Ryan and I “exploded,” as my amazing doctor, who has been through so much with us, put it. English isn’t his first language, but I think the word is apt. How could we possibly contain the emotion of parenthood that escaped us then? That had been there for so long, begun by Lorenzo, then corked so profoundly. And now it could run free in a different way, as we took in the majesty of our daughter, as we still do each day, when she lies between us on the bed, her limbs on the move, her expression changing, her sounds telling us a story about where she has been.

Of course, there is sleep deprivation. Of course, I do most things one-handed, which means it takes time to tell you that she is here. But I wouldn’t want it any other way. All of it means I am taking care of my daughter. Of course, I also still worry, but not nearly as much as I feared I would. There is a lot to be said for a mother’s instinct. There is a lot to be said for a healthy baby’s vitality as she grows and learns.

All that a new creature learns! To feed! To hold her head up! I imagine what Lorenzo would have had to also learn… how hard it could be to breathe, to endure open-heart surgeries (if he was lucky). Babies around the world are learning those things every day, and I honor them as I honor their parents. Holding her, I don’t pretend to assume things will always be okay though I pray that they are. I know how suddenly they can change. But in holding her, I also know that right now she is happy. She is telling me what she wants. She is here.