My Rainbow Baby

My Rainbow Baby

On May 21, 2017, my three-year-old became my middle child. She has been an incredible big sister—never once showing jealousy toward our new arrival—but recently this transition has revealed itself in other ways.

For 2.5 years, we have known our three-year-old is a passionate, determined soul, and every night while tucking her in I pray for wisdom to guide/wrangle these gifts. But I will also be the first to admit that sometimes that passion and determination intimidate me, and I am not quite sure how to peek behind that stoic mask she wears when I know she feels the most.

The other day, however, the two of us were lying in her bed before quiet time. I read two books like always but afterward, I felt compelled to just hold her. She is surprisingly strong for being so petite, and at first she tried to wiggle away, but after a few seconds she rested.

Holding my daughter, I looked down at the fine blond hair covering her small head and said, “Do you know you’re my rainbow baby?”

She paused a second and then looked up at me. She’s not a big talker, rather communicates her needs non-verbally, so I took this as a sign that I had permission to continue. I said, “Before you were born, I lost a little baby. So when I found out you were in my belly, I held you there and held you there, and I said, ‘Stay! Stay! Stay!’” I squeezed her tight and murmured, “You see, I already loved you so much, and you were God’s promise to me, like a rainbow. So that makes you my rainbow baby.”

Again, my three-year-old didn’t say anything, but I could see this light dawning behind her eyes. Later, I heard how much this story impacted her when she started bragging to her big sister, “I’m Mom’s rainbow baby!” Which made me have to call my eldest my “heart baby” and my youngest my “flower baby” — therefore negating some of the ground I had gained, but afterward, I began to see myself in my three-year-old girl.

I am in the middle of transition. I have really been in the middle of transition for the past six years, but like any kind of birthing experience, it feels like these contractions are reaching their peak. With a six-year-old, a three-year-old, and a one-year-old, I am in the throes of young motherhood. If there’s not a baby crying at my feet while I wash dishes, there’s a three-year-old yelling, “Come, wipe me!” because she doesn’t like getting her hands dirty (like I do). Also, I am at a tipping point in my author career, where the demands of my small brood have whittled away at the time I can pour into my writing, forcing me to go so slowly that deadlines are no longer feasible.

This combination, at times, causes me to forget my identity as God’s daughter, who was cherished from conception. It causes me to forget the gifts He has given me and which He, like any proud papa, calls forth.

But then I can imagine Him looking into my eyes just like I looked into my three-year-old’s and saying, “I cherished you from the beginning. You are mine.”

And this reassures my heart that there’s a place for me, just as there’s a place for you.

This week, take a moment to just sit quietly and ask Jesus to help you see how He sees you. That perspective can change your view of yourself and your world.