When we look at our nursery, we see you.

As we took "our" 38 week photos last night, I told Jeff I was debating between two ideas for this week's post. A part of me wants to make sure I write another letter to Button, but, as I stood in our nearly-ready nursery last night, I also felt incredibly overwhelmed by the palpable presence of so many people who love us and Button already. Jeff quickly made the decision: this is the post I need to write.

I've shared many pictures of the nursery on this blog, but what I want to share today is not what you see but what Jeff and I see when we look around the room. Because, whether you live next door or a continent away, whether we've ever hugged you in person or not, whether you sent something last week or last month or last year, you're right here with us, wrapping us in love, holding us steady, reminding us to breathe, cheering us on in this tumultuous adventure.

First, I see my husband's hands at work. I know the hours he spent drawing up plans for this closet--hours spent long before we knew Button was actually coming, hours spent in dark moments of grief. I know how he measured rods to make sure they'd fit infant hangers and how he carefully designed cubbies for tiny shoes and soft stuffed animals. His love for his wife and daughter is written in bold strokes across every detail.

Next, I see the generosity and joy of sweet friends and family from near and far--little onesies with hand-painted designs from two of my best friends who live north of the Mason-Dixon line, a sleep 'n' play from my aunt and uncle in Florida, a SleepSack from my cousin in NYC, a matching set of button-themed clothing from a woman I've never met in person but who has supported me for years. There are tiny dresses that my grandmother gave my mother, a legacy that will now pass to a fourth generation of women. And then the baskets! Overflowing with shoes and socks, stuffed animals and soft swaddle blankets, each one coming from a different woman who I will always think of as hugging Button when I wrap her tightly inside.

You know all about J's beautiful artwork on our walls; we can hardly step into the room without seeing her grinning face, dotted with bits of paint, as she effortlessly applies her brush to the walls as if it were a magic wand. When I look at Button's changing table now, though, I also see an overflowing basket of books, a gift from the women of my English department. The titles range from Fluffy Chick to Charlotte's Web, and each one was carefully selected as a favorite of one of the women in that group. So many of the titles speak to the strength of women, to the possibility and potential that our daughter has to be anyone she wants to be--just as the gift-givers themselves are role models of endurance and compassion.

Button's bookshelf is so much more than just a bookshelf, just a resting place for things. It's the home of her "Twilight Turtle" nightlight, a gift from another amazing woman I've only ever hugged through an email or a letter, and her Dory stuffed animal, a perfect nursery-themed present from one of Jeff's best friends back home. There's a squishy whale that I can't look at without feeling the tears well up because I know the meaning behind the goofy, colorful toy, a gift from a woman who herself has endured so much and who understands all that a whale symbolizes for our little girl. There's a plaque with a copy of our baby shower invitation--such a remarkable and overwhelming event I never believed I'd get to experience--and with a picture of that joyful ultrasound when we got to see our perfectly-formed daughter happily kicking up her heels. And the books! From family in Connecticut and friends in Virginia and beyond, they range from classics like Mike Mulligan to new favorites like Shoe-la-la! Much of the collection has come from our wonderful neighbor's father who has only met us once but who has fallen in love with our little Button and taken it upon himself to build her library with colorful and vivacious characters.

It's so simple--just a dresser full of towels and sheets and changing pad covers--but that's not what I see. I see a handmade hoodie towel from a colleague and friend who has encouraged me throughout the last two years, a stack of ducky washcloths generously given by a woman who prays for us daily, a stroller blanket from two of our dear friends in Connecticut who could not be happier we've made it to this point. Every time I change Button's sheets or gently wash her little body in the tub, it will be the hands of these women holding her, wrapping her in warmth and love.

I could go on and on, and I fear I have left out too much already. Some of our favorite things, in fact, are already packed safely in Button's hospital bag, such as the hand-knit blanket from one of the most incredible women I know--a blanket that I cannot wait to tuck around Button to keep her warm as I tell her stories about a friendship born out of pain and heartache but so rich now with joy and hope. But I will stop here for now, hopeful that my words are enough to let you all see Button's nursery through our eyes.

We see you.

We see Button's family.

And we are eternally thankful to be so blessed.