SuperKid and His Magical Sister

I spent a large chunk of my evening watching "The Polar Express" with my wee Bug. (In actuality, I watched while she drifted in and out of sleep.)
I must confess my love of children's movies. I have a long, long list of favorites. I loved sharing them with Caleb when he was small, although understandably he was not a fan of princess movies.
Just when I thought that it was time to tuck away the memories of watching those old familiar favorites with a little one cuddled in my lap, God gave me something better. Another baby to share them with.
:)

I wasn't sure how well I would deal with the delays we were conditioned to expect in Liddy's development. Caleb was basically SuperKid from the very beginning. He was in full control of his neck and head by two weeks old, sitting by 4 months on his own, crawling by 6 months and walking everywhere by the time he was 9 months old. Not to mention that right around a year old, he started talking a blue streak. In what seemed like the blink of an eye, that precious baby boy was only a memory as he moved on to bigger and less magical things.
It seems in many ways impossible for me to reconcile the man-child he is now with that sweet baby they laid in my arms for the first time. It sure doesn't seem as long ago as it has been......
SuperKid, growing up entirely too fast, is all I have ever known.
Lydia is my last baby. The difficulties I have which led me to be told I couldn't have babies before her have returned with a vengance since she's been born. I was granted my one miracle. Her birth was so traumatic to my poor battered body that I expected to not be a part of that magical 50% of women who have pregnancies heal them completely. I already knew. I will have had a hysterectomy before I turn 40.
That's always been a major reason that I have fought so hard to keep her.
You don't return a miracle.
And to my way of thinking these days, especially not one that has an extra chromosome.
That extra chromosome and her heart defect have made her small. Tiny. She wore 0-3's forever and she still doesn't even weigh 15 lbs (which is a BIG switch from Caleb, who weighed 15 lbs already at 2 months!). But that's ok. She has stayed cuddlier for longer. Somehow, she still just fits perfectly. In my arms. On my hip. Snuggled on my chest.
She's behind other kids in other small ways too. She doesn't sit up on her own yet (although we're closer every day). She can't crawl. She's not able to grasp small things (which isn't necessarily a bad thing in our house!). And that's ok too. They'll happen (and we'll party). But by them not happening just yet, I am getting to hold on to my last baby for just a little bit longer.
How can that be bad?
I'm sure that she's still going to grow up faster than I'll want her to. From past experience, I know to appreciate this brief interlude. One of these days, the sweet smelling snuggly girl with the sleepy eyes won't want to curl up in my lap to watch a movie. One of these days, I won't be her hero anymore. I'll just be her mom. She'll be independent and fiesty and I imagine her still tiny, but as mighty as an oak, with a personality that makes her seem giant.
But for right now, she is still my tiny baby. And I'm more than ok with that.
After all, age is nothing but a number. :)