You’re covered in babies, you’re covered in slashes
You’re covered in wilderness, you’re covered in stains
Mary, Patty Griffin

There are simply zero words, my hand to heaven, to express to you how it feels to have these babies all around me, on me, and intertwined in my limbs. I’ll take a flying leap off the highest Internet ledge and post a photo of me, mouth agape and children with cheesy smiles presented all in unison for your viewing pleasure. I’ll tell you my eyes are squinty, my expression is not anywhere near flattering, and then I’ll tell you I have never seen myself so genuinely happy.

I met Teya when she was still in half-day kindergarten, which is where Eadie abandoned us to attend this very year. I cannot believe that she was ever so small, so innocent, and so unaware of Hannah Montana. I saw her baptized and she reminds me frequently of the day in just over a year when we will go to the temple together to be baptized for others who haven’t had the same opportunity we had. I have never met a child so forgiving. She is magical at nearly 11 years old.

Ever since she was old enough to know me, Eadie has reached for my right hand with her left and clasped them together, finger between finger between finger. It is our thing, our greeting and my reassurance, and I’ve never captured it on camera. I always find myself so wrapped up in the sweet moment that the thought never crosses my mind. But I’ll write about it: I’ll tell you she is just as magical at five-and-a-half as the day I met her at 14 months old, the same age Alton is today. I’ll tell you I had to wipe away the tears when she closed family prayer Saturday night with, “Please bless Ashey to stay.” I’ll tell you I never thought I could love someone else’s child so much that my heart would ache for her to be next to my side and in my arms.

Then the kisses. Oh, the kisses. Orin, my sweet Odie, has offered me more sweet kisses in the past 96 hours than he did in the first 36 months of his life. I held him in his very first hours here, and I’ve cuddled the Blankie, and I’ve heard all about the trucks and the cars and the monster trucks and the monster cars and the diggers and the graders. He is magical at three-and-a-half.

For my birthday in 2006, I received the news that Alton was on his way and he has been the sweetest gift. I watched him grow from the outside, talked to him, and poked at him to watch him turn flips in his uncomfortable mother’s contracting uterus (sorry Med, it was just too dang cool). I mourned when I thought I might miss his arrival, and I sobbed the most blissful tears when I saw him enter this world safely. I held him tightly as often as I could. I held him even more tightly on 11 March 2008, knowing he wouldn’t know me when I returned. I kissed his downy head and knew he would be a different child when I saw him again.

I never, ever expected that within half an hour of our reunion, he’d be grinning, offering me chocolate from his fingertip. I never expected he’d lean his head against my chest at the kitchen table that evening and I never in a million years thought he would laugh when I modeled clothes for him at Target, begin to mimic the intonation of “Ashey” as we walked the aisles, and lingeringly nuzzle his head into my neck yesterday as we walked to the car. He is magical at 14 months.

And then, I’ll tell you that I have felt healed, these past few days, covered in babies. Still covered in all the other difficulties, trials, and downright ridiculousness that life brings, that chemical imbalances impose, and that facing reality frightens into me. But in the moments I am covered in babies, I feel healed.