My bestie's baby

Meg is weaved into almost every part of my life growing up. Our parents are best friends. Our dads work for the same company. Our moms made a life out of raising us. We each have brothers that are five years younger than us. Over the years her family has become family to us. Through Christmas's spent together, birthdays, summer dinners, card games, sitting beside each other in church, sledding together, helping each other get ready for prom, growing up together, making our dads eat our disturbing easy bake oven creations, through heartbreaks, moving houses, decorating rooms, broken bones, football games, the thick, and the thin. Meg has always been there, just like her mom has always been there for my mom and the same for our dads and brothers.

When Meg and I were little we used to have those babies that looked so real that people often mistook them for real when we would push them around in strollers in the mall, at Walmart, and all the various other places we took them. Meg was three years older than me and I wanted to be exactly like her- naturally that meant doing whatever she did. When she would hold her doll out the window while we were driving by its foot, I would follow suit. When she would act like she had tripped and dump her doll onto the floor on its face, I would just happen to trip too, less gracefully of course, and fall on my face along with my doll. People would run to us horrified, screaming, "That poor child!" only to find out they were only dolls. It was the funniest thing this ginger had ever experienced. We would giggle and high five and look around for another unsuspecting grandma to terrify. Tina and Kell would tell us to stop. Our dads would laugh.

What we loved most about it was that people actually thought these babies were real. We would fantasize about what having our own kids would be like. We couldn't wrap our minds around the idea. I would have giggly ginger children. Hers would be dark headed and sweet. My daughter would be named Eloise Rose, and hers would be named Addison Marie. They would be the best of friends and grow up together, just like we had. If something went horrifically against our plans and one of us had a son, that would be okay. They would just marry each other. Even better.

In April, when I met Meg's baby for the first time, I was speechless, and emotional, and overjoyed, and humbled, and out of control, and excited, and changed. She was tiny and snuggly and warm and innocent and really real. Her little hand couldn't fit around my finger. That day will forever be in my memory file. The real life day when something hoped for became incredibly real and life changing and infinitely better than we could have ever imagined.