Composing a Childhood Soundtrack of Love

As I sit here drinking my late night decaf coffee, munching warm delivered cookies that I definitely sent to myself as a treat while my husband is out of town on a work trip- I’m listening to James Taylor playing softly through the house as my girls sleep.  I told Alexa to, “play James Taylor” and she obligingly replied, “shuffling James Taylor on Amazon Music” and has proceeded to play song after song of the calming music that has been somewhat of a soundtrack to my life.   

I sing along, with nostalgia and a conditioned feeling of safety and joy welling deep inside, to “Copperline”, chuckling to myself when I hear James say, “one time I saw my Daddy dancing, was a moving like a man in a trance,” because I’ve been told countless times that my daddy would twirl me around the room as a baby/toddler, no doubt in his infamously hilarious bodily movement that I guess we can call dancing, to Copperline. Holding me close and making me giggle with glee, earning my childhood nickname of “Chuckles cheeks.”   I hear the intro to “Down in a Hole,” and am transported back to the childhood days of top bunk slumbering when I got to pick the music my sister and I listened to at night to fall asleep, knowing it was song number 2 on my favorite CD, of which I was usually asleep by the end of song number 3 or 4.  I unconsciously freeze every time James’ soothing voice mentions the frozen man that, now that I think about it as an adult, is a bit creepy and terrifying- reminiscent of my sisters and I making exaggerated freezing movements in the back of our trusty minivan as we drove from San Diego to Denver biannually.  My heart swells and eyes tingle as I hear the promise my Dad and I danced to at my wedding that has since become the lullaby I’ve sang countless times to both my baby girls,

“Well the sun is surely sinking down, 
But the moon is slowly rising
So this old world must still be spinning 'round
And I still love you.”

These songs are ones that I put on CDs I’ve made throughout the years for roadtrips with college friends, the CD I made and listened to every single day for 6months of my first pregnancy just in case I really could influence my unborn baby’s taste in music (it didn’t work…there were no Moana songs or Veggie Tales on that CD and yet, what does she want to listen to over and over??), my wedding playlist, Pandora Station at work, and I’ve rotated between the songs when singing softly to my babes as I’ve rocked them countless hours.  If you are familiar with James Taylor’s music, you might be thinking of some of his lyrics wondering what exactly I am whispering to my children at night (I don’t sing the Traffic Jam song, don’t worry) but it’s not really about the lyrics (although I am definitely learning to appreciate his actual lyrics and meanings/stories behind them now).  

Every song, it seems, is paired with a memory or feeling of warmth that goes beyond James Taylor’s obvious talent as one of the best. I think I would be sitting here in the kitchen listening to Led Zeppelin songs while gobbling cookies if my Dad had played those songs on his guitar instead of “Fire and Rain” and “You’ve got a Friend” when I was a kid.  Or possibly Cyndi Lauper would have been my road trip companion had my mom popped her CD in while we drove to swimming lessons in the summer and library trips year-round.  Music has always worked like a real life Pensieve for me (and actually there is real science that links music to memory because the brain is so cool).   I hear a song and get sucked back to the feeling or place in time I heard it.  

James Taylor’s music reaches out its melodious chords and tenderly wraps them around my heart, floating me back along the melody to my childhood.  My childhood that was filled with security and fun and acceptance.  My childhood that was not just filled, but overflowing, with love. I know I am fortunate. I have always known how fortunate I am to have the parents I have, who gave me the childhood I had, and continue to be an ever-present source of support and love in adulthood. These types of parents are rare, and I know this.  And I think the reason I sit in my rocker and sing about a cowboy who, “thinks about women and glasses of beer” to, “rockaby my sweet baby May,” is because I want so bad to make sure my girls grow up and know by just hearing that first strum of a guitar, that they are oh.so.loved.

I hope and pray and work and strive to create a childhood filled with living room dance parties with my husband twirling one girl, and I the other; a childhood filled with 1000 “I love you”s a day; a childhood filled with tickle fights and lazy Saturdays exploring nature with each other; a childhood filled with car ride talks and adventures; a childhood filled with Bible Stories and Story Stories before bed; a childhood filled with learning to care for others; a childhood filled with messy, real playing; a childhood filled with the musical notes and cadences of a love so deep it cannot be forgotten no matter the years or miles.  A childhood that allows for my sweet little girls to mature into strong, confident young ladies in adulthood who sit at their kitchen table, listening to James Taylor, indulging in a treat and knowing without a shadow of a doubt that the lyrics they hear that calm voice singing,  

“You just call out my name
And, you know, wherever I am
I'll come running,”

might as well be coming out of their Dada and Mama’s mouths because they know they are so very much loved- now and for always.

A childhood that has been composed to the soundtrack of love.

You Can Close Your Eyes

Well
the sun is surely sinking down
But the moon is slowly rising
And this old world must still be spinning 'round
And I still love you
So
close your eyes
You can close your eyes, it's all right
I don't know no love songs
And I can't sing the blues anymore
But I can sing this song
And you can sing this song
When I'm gone
Well
it won't be long before another day
We're gonna have a good time
And no one's gonna take that time away
You can stay as long as you like
So
close your eyes
You can close your eyes, it's all right
I don't know no love songs
And I can't sing the blues anymore
But I can sing this song
And you can sing this song
When I'm gone
So
close your eyes
You can close your eyes, it's all right
I don't know no love songs
And I can't sing the blues anymore
But I can sing this song
And you can sing this song
When I'm gone
  • – James Taylor
Advertisements

Sweet Baby May, Don’t Forget Your Mama’s Heart Song

My Sweet Baby May,

As I rock you to sleep, I feel your soft, still squishy cheek pressed against my chest. I feel my heart beating rhythmically inside that same chest and imagine the sound waves bouncing soothingly off your eardrums in a familiar sleep inducing pattern.  It is the same pattern that composed the soundtrack of your creation.  From the time you were just a tiny cell, my heart beat was there, pulsing with nutrients and blood, giving you life.  When your little ears couldn’t yet hear, my heart beat was vibrating in the fluid cradling you, lulling you in a cocoon of safety and love. As your tiny ears started working, my heart beat was the first and constant song playing in your head. 

Your Mama’s heart song, playing for you.

Oh my love. Do you remember that song now as you lay sleeping?  Does it still comfort you now that you have officially been out in this great big world longer than you were held in my womb? Now that you have heard many songs and rhythms more complex and loud?  As you learn to scoot and crawl, I see you look back at me as if questioning if it is ok that you are moving further from me. Are you listening for my heartbeat little one? Seeing if it will reach you as you cautiously venture further away?  Is it what causes you to reach your arms up to me when I walk by? Is it what compels you to cry out for me in the night?

Are you finding your song, my love?

I think you are.  I think you still remember and still feel the song within you. I can tell by the way you look at me in that special way that is just for your Mama.  I can tell by the way you fall asleep fastest when it’s me rocking you.  I can tell when you reach your little hand up to feel my face, eyes still closed, while you nurse in the middle of the night. I can tell by the way your face lights up when I walk in the room, and by the wails of despair when I walk out.  I can tell when we cuddle in the rocker and your eyes flutter trustfully.  And I think, when you pull your head in close for snuggles after daycare that you are checking to see if your song is still playing for you.

And oh, is it playing.

Your song will forever be playing, sweet one.  Long after your soft pudgy cheeks have thinned and you no longer press your ear against my chest to fall asleep.  It will still be playing when you no longer look back but bravely venture full force into the world.  I know there will come a time when you no longer remember how much it comforted and surrounded you in the early months of your life- both inside and out of the womb, but it will still be playing.  I know there will be a day that snuggling with your Mama is a thing of the past, but it will still be playing on that day.  You see little one, your song is my life force.  That heart beat keeps me living, just as it kept you alive when you couldn’t survive on your own.  So my sweet girl, while you will grow up and forget the lyrics of your song, I hope you will not forget the rhythm of love it has been beating for you from the beginning.  I hope you will know that no matter how big you get or how far you venture, those sound waves are reaching out for you from inside my chest.  I hope you feel the vibrations of safety and love surrounding you even when you are far away.  And when you feel down or troubled, I hope that rhythm of your song is what plays in your head and in your heart.

And oh sweet baby May, know that for as long as I live, your song and the memories of us listening to it together will be playing on repeat in my heart.  Know that your Mama will always be here playing your song, welcoming you with open arms to come have a listen.

Like Mother, Like Daughter

“Because I am a woman and I will show you.”

I wrote these words when I was 19 weeks pregnant with Brynn and had just found out she was a girl (you can read the full post here). I was scared and excited and determined to raise a strong, independent little woman- with zero knowledge about what the heeccckkk was about to happen. I had no idea just how strong and independent that little girl would be at the tender age of 3 ½ or that there would be another little woman arriving on the scene in 2.5years.  I wrote about being the primary female role model for my little girl but had no idea just what implications came with that. I mean, I knew…but I didn’t know.  I wrote about allowing her to wear tutus and bows but didn’t know my living room floor would be perpetually littered with a variety of tutus in different colors and material with batman action figures nestled between them.  I wrote about not letting her win at games but didn’t know just how many games of Disney matching I would be playing or how often I would legitimately be losing to a 3year old. I wrote about letting her fall down, but didn’t know just how hard that would be for me (#enneagram6).  I wrote about putting Band-Aids on scraped knees but didn’t know how many Band-Aids I’d be putting on toenails because a “tiny piece was falling off and getting caught on the purple blanket” in her bed. I wrote about maintaining confidence and modeling that to her.  But I didn’t know that there are some days in Motherhood that shake even the firmest of confidences.

I. Had. No. Idea.

But mostly- I didn’t know what strength and independence that little girl and her future baby sister would teach me.

I didn’t know I would find a physical strength inside myself I didn’t know possible when I pushed out a 9lb11oz baby and then an 8lb14oz baby (without the epidural that time!).  I didn’t know I would experience probably the lowest my confidence has ever been when nursing was so painful and so frustrating, only to become one of the things I’m most proud of myself for sticking with. I didn’t know the physical, mental and emotional strength required for months (years because my kids hate sleeping) of nightly night feedings/soothings.   I didn’t know the amount of independence that would be required to ask for help and support from friends and family.  I didn’t know the kind of strength it takes to maintain a semblance of professionalism at work and grad school when your baby girl was up screaming all night so you slept on the floor next to the crib.  I didn’t know about the independence forced on you and strength forced from you when you take a newborn home from the hospital to a toddler who still needs your attention and a routine to be maintained.  I didn’t know how much strength it takes to remain patient and calm while a toddler is throwing a tantrum and a baby is screaming from gas pains. I didn’t know the kind of strength it takes to apologize to a 3 year old and ask for forgiveness for not remaining patient and calm.  I didn’t know the independence it takes to defend your choice to work and go to school instead of stay home with the kids.  I didn’t know the kind of strength required to feel like you have no idea what is going on, but realize you are somehow now the adult in charge.

I didn’t know the strength and independence that comes from being broken and wrung raw.

I didn’t know about Motherhood.

So today I say to you, my sweet baby girls:

Because I am a woman, I hope to show you what I’ve learned from being your Mama.

I hope to show you it takes strength to ask for help.

I hope to show you that you will fail, but you can try again because you are strong.

I hope to show you that plans will go awry, but you can use your independence to be adaptable and grow.

I hope to show you that your body will not be perfect by society’s standards, but it is strong and it is yours.

I hope to show you that confidence is important, but humility demonstrates strength of character.

I hope to show you that compassion and strength are not mutually exclusive but rather dependent on one another.

I hope to show you that there truly is strength in numbers – find your people and stick with them.

I hope to show you that it takes strong determination and hard work to reach your goals.

I hope to show you that your dreams and goals are worth fighting for with every bit of strength for the sole reason that they are yours.

I hope to show you that you have options in this world but it will take independence and strength to assert your yourselves in some of those options.

I hope to show you that without God’s strength, you will flounder, but with it you will soar.

I hope to show you self-compassion is a strength that will help you through hard times.

I hope to show you both so many things. So so many things.

Sweet girls, I know you are watching.  I know because I hear, “when I’m older I’m going to put cream in my coffee” after I pour creamer in my coffee in the morning.  I feel your little hands pet my hair while you announce, “when I’m older, I can have hair long long like yours and braid it like yours.”  I see your little eyes watching my hands as I demonstrate clapping and see concentrated focus while your chubby baby hands lurch towards each other in an attempt to mimic my behavior.  The gravity of these simplistic statements and movements is not lost on me my tiny loves. I feel the weight of my responsibility as your Mama and so I am trying my best.  Trying my best to demonstrate strength and independence in all forms because I am a woman and what I show you will inform your concept of what it means to be a woman.

What a weight that is.

Oh, but what an honor.

Mama loves you both, my little women.

“I know, Mama”

3 year olds are a trip.  Vocabulary is exploding, energy is endless and emotions are intense.

B has been surprising us daily with her use of words recently.  She’s always been ahead of the developmental curve in terms of cognitive ability- but recently we’ve been marveling.  The other day in the car, she was saying something (she is always saying something- like literally, unless she’s asleep, she’s talking….) and neither David nor I could understand one of the words.  (She has this nasally pronunciation of certain letters going on that makes it difficult sometimes.)  She kept repeating it over and over and I kept hearing “red” but it was clearly not the word she was saying.  In the past when this has happened, she would start crying out of frustration that we didn’t understand what she was trying to tell us.  However, this day she said “No, not red. ‘wet!’ .. like rain!”  I know it seems basic, we do it all the time, using context to get our point across, but it seemed so advanced for our little tiny 3 year old.  Later that same week she was trying to say something that we once again couldn’t understand- something that sounded like “call” or “mall”.  She said, relatively patiently- “No, like little. Not big, but little- ‘SMALL.’”  Small. She was describing, using synonyms and antonyms, the word small.   It’s amazing to me to think that just 3 years ago, she was a 3 month old baby who couldn’t do anything but eat, sleep, poop and smile.

With this blossoming of vocabulary, she is better able to demonstrate her understanding of concepts and express her desires more effectively.  This has diminished significantly the amount of frustration tantrums and general amount of crying.  It’s also allowing us to get to know her as the unique person she is becoming. She tells us great imaginative stories about her and her baby sister escaping jail with the help of nice monsters.  She cried indignantly, “My teeth are too sharp! WHY DID THEY DO THAT TO ME? I DON’T LIKE IT WHEN THEY DO THAT TO ME!” after biting her cheek for the first time a few weeks ago (side note: I was laughing so hard I couldn’t console her as she cried. Good thing David was there). She makes up games to play with hidden coins and shirt sleeves.  She “reads” her books to her sister while occasionally pausing to stroke her face and say “I love you.”  She tells strangers on the street about her love of ballet and demonstrates with no self-doubt her ballet moves she’s learning “Fridays in ballet class.”  She dances with abandon at Zoo light show and tells us in no uncertain terms that she “dances better” than us.  Her teachers constantly tell us how quickly she learns and grasps concepts and how they are sure she is going to be CEO or president of something someday.

I love it. I love her big personality and flair for the dramatic. I love her sweetness and desire to share constantly. I love her love to be around people and her constant chatter about her little best friends. I love her facial expressions that are starting to look a lot like mine and her concern for others that looks a lot like her Daddy’s.  I love her growing knowledge of Jesus and the Bible. I love her desire to learn and constant spelling of her name and Mama’s name. I love it all.

I love it all because I love her. And I love her simply because she’s mine.

And you know what? It makes me proud.  Proud of who she is and who she is becoming.  Proud that I get to be her Mama.  And- yes- proud of the job I’m doing as her Mama.

Don’t get me wrong, there are pleennntttyy of days I’m not proud of her behavior – or mine for that matter.  Her booty has a comfortable spot in the timeout corner and I threaten to unplug her purple lights or turn off her music at bedtime more often than I’d like. She bit her best friend at school out of the blue a few months ago (having no history of being a biter) and guys- I. Was. Mortified.  With her expanding use of words and knowledge of concepts has come the innate human tendency to lie and use that intellect for sassing.  Her strong independence I prayed for when she was in my tummy was granted and is now being demonstrated with glares and “hmmphss” and “That’s not fair!” and “I DON’T WANT TO TAKE A NAP! I’M NOT *yyaaaawwwnnnn* TIRED!”.  Also… did I mention she’s three?

So yes, sometimes I apologize for B’s outbursts or joke about how cray cray she is because she is at 100% energy All. Of. The. Time. But actually- I feel like her Daddy and I are doing a pretty good job at this parenting thing.  When I think about  my childhood- I don’t remember the times I’m sure my parents were embarrassed with a tantrum I had.  I don’t remember my parents holding the door shut to my room because I wouldn’t take a nap (supposedly this happened but who knows for sure 😉 ).  I remember being put in “VTO” (“Verbal Time Out”- how the heck did they get this to work?) but I don’t have negative emotions attached to those memories.  Because my parents did/are doing a heck of a job as parents.  And by that I mean they made sure we understood the most important concept a child should learn from their parents– I knew I was loved.  I knew I was loved no matter what. No matter what I did or said or broke. No matter how much I disobeyed or talked back.  No matter what.

I knew I was loved. And I still know it to this day.

So, when I say I think David and I are doing a pretty good job at this parenting gig? I don’t mean that I don’t have to sometimes apologize to my 3 year old and ask for her forgiveness for reacting poorly to her disobeying.  Because I do.  I don’t mean that I sometimes let her watch a movie just because I am done and tired and want her to stop talking for a minute.  Because I do.  I don’t mean that I feed her vegetables and make her eat them all before leaving the table every night. Because I don’t.  I don’t mean that I am 100% consistent with discipline. Because I’m not.  I don’t mean that I never give in to her whining and toddler demands. Because I do.  I don’t mean that sometimes more time passes between baths than it should. Because it does.  I don’t mean that sometimes I snap with my own sass at the little girl who is testing the limits. Because I do.

I don’t mean by any stretch am I a perfect parent. Because I am far from it. But I do think I’m getting the important message across.

Because as we snuggled on the couch during that extra TV time that probably should have been filled with books or something, I leaned over and said “I love you” and she said “I know, Mama.” And after I got done pinning her to the ground to squeeze pus out of a staph infected boil on her booty while she shrieked in pain and yelled “Don’t ever do that again!”, I said “I’m sorry, I don’t like to do this either. But I love you.” She said sniffling, “I know, Mama.” And after every timeout as we talk about why she was in timeout I say “I love you” and she says “I know, Mama.” And for the nights we do make her eat her vegetables and she gags on them because she hates them so much- I say (after exchanging covert eye rolls with David at the drama) “I love you” and she says “I know, Mama.” And when we are getting ready for bed and I go back in her room for the 3rd time to tell her to stop kicking the wall so she doesn’t wake up her sister- “Good night, I love you.” I hear her little voice say from the million blankets, “I know, Mama.”

And after I saw her little face break into tears and saw her shrink back against the couch after I got mad at her- I pulled her close and said “I’m sorry I snapped at you. I was mad because you hurt me, but I shouldn’t have reacted that way. You know mama loves you right?” she looked at me, clutched me tight and said “I know, Mama.  A lot.”

And I believe her because she does know. Her little words demonstrate big understanding.  My little girl knows I love her.  And that means I’m doing a heck of a job as a parent.

With it being the beginning of a new year, I’m seeing all these posts about resolutions with #NewYearNewMe attached to them.  And sure, I have goals I’d like to work towards and growth is always something to strive for.  But when it comes to parenting, overall- I look forward to 2019 and all the “I know, Mamas” I’m going to hear by being the same ol’ Mama that loves her babies fiercely.

#NewYearSameMama

 

(Lest you think I’ve forgotten my sweet (almost 7 month old :O ) Baby M- there is no doubt she too knows Mama loves her- she is 100% Mama’s girl 😉 )

Busyness Anticipated

This week has been and will continue to be the end of sorts and the beginning of sorts. I turned in my last paper and final for the semester, closed out my client files and left campus for the last time until the end of August.  The counters were installed yesterday, and the bathrooms are being finished these next couple days in our new house. We had our third and final sonogram to make sure baby girl is head down and getting ready to make her entrance into the world (all looks good!). Today is May 3- I’m due June 3rd, which means we’ve entered the last month of only being responsible for one little person’s life. I got offered an internship position for the Fall/Spring that I’m gladly accepting and looking forward to after my summer “off”.  We’ll be moving into our new house hopefully this weekend, giving our incredibly gracious, hospitable, patient friends back their house, space and sanity.  It’s been a good week. It’s been a busy week. It’s been a busy season. Between David and I, we’ve been in a 4 month season of 3 jobs, full time graduate school, studying for the 3rd and final CFA test, buying/renovating a house, living with friends, raising a delightfully strong, independent (read: strong-willed) 2 year old, attempting to potty train said 2yr old, growing a human, leading a life group at church, volunteering in the children’s ministry, and attempting to not let our daughter associate meal time with chicken nuggets being chucked backwards from the front seat into her car seat. We’ve had multiple ER visits, multiple car breakdowns, bodily fluids from various orifices at various times of utter inconvenience, family visits, hours of Veggie Tales songs in the car, a week vacation in CO, toddler meltdowns, sweet cuddles, tears, laughter, lots of ice cream, and little sleep. Like I said, it’s been a busy season.  And while some of the busyness is coming to an end/winding down this week, a different kind of busyness is about to begin.  The busyness that’s coming to an end- school and pregnancy for me (and work for awhile once baby comes), working late nights at the house for David- has been a busyness that’s physically exhausting and stressful at times, but is nothing compared to the busyness that lies ahead. The busyness of class and papers, installing flooring and painting and sitting in lots of traffic in between- these things can be done with dutiful preparation and a good work ethic. Which I can say David and I both have.

What’s coming is different.

What’s coming is a busyness- and with that- a tiredness that penetrates deep. What’s coming is a season I’ve been anticipating with a mixture of overwhelming joy and a knowing, nervous apprehension. What’s coming is something that can’t really be prepared for no matter how many onesies are washed and ready (currently none), or how cutely the nursery is set up (currently baby2 has nowhere to sleep…we’re working on it), how many bottles are washed (should probably try to find them…), or how many tubes of lanolin cream are ready (literally can’t even think about that right now).

What’s coming is a baby.

What’s coming is excruciating physical pain of labor immediately followed by an excruciatingly painful burst of love that causes the chest to constrict and arms to open. What’s coming is sleepless nights of diaper changes and feeding sessions that evoke a juxtaposition of emotions so intense it’s dizzying. Gratefulness that you have a baby and that baby is breathing, peeing and eating; anxiety and self-doubt from not being able to get the hang of nursing immediately even though its “so natural”; physical pain from said “natural experience”; exhaustion from  lack of sleep; love for the tiny human you grew and now get to hold and comfort; fear that maybe you aren’t doing everything just right; hilarity from thinking you could ever do everything just right; delirium from lack of sleep and routine… all of these and more all in the span of hearing the first cry that jolts you awake until the babe is back asleep full and dry and you pass out from sheer exhaustion until the next cry.

These emotions. They are the busyness that’s coming.

They are what scare me. They are what cause my nervous laughter when people ask if I’m ready. They are what I think of every Sunday when my app says that somehow another week has passed and now there’s only a month left of this pregnancy that I thought I just found out about.  When I feel my little love rolling around in my belly, those swarms of emotions start bubbling up along with my acid reflux.  I’ve had people say “Well it’s your second so you know what to expect right? It’s not as scary?” Wrong.  It’s the knowing what to expect that makes it more scary. When I was 8 months pregnant with Brynn, I had everything “ready”- all her cute onesies were washed and folded in her dresser that was carefully positioned in her cute little room complete with Etsy signs and blankets. But I was not prepared for the real work of having a newborn. The work of experiencing and dealing with emotions as I’d never experienced them before.   I was smacked with them that 8th of November as I finally pushed that giant baby out and they handed her to me, with no instructions or textbook about how to handle them.  They were just there. All over the place (just like all the other things in that delivery room).  And it’s going to happen again in about a month.

I’ve been thinking though.

Because thinking is what I do when pesky emotions are involved. I’ve been thinking about this concept that I’ve been using to attempt to help my clients these past few months. I’ve been spending months reading articles and listening to TED Talks and podcasts to help formulate my treatment plans.  I’ve been thinking that maybe the timing of this research has actually been perfect.  I’ve been thinking that maybe I’m more prepared to deal with this impending emotional rollercoaster than I think I am.  I’ve been thinking that the conversations I’ve been having with mom friends, reminiscing about birth stories, laughing about the horror that took place in those labor and delivery rooms/operating tables and the weeks of recovery that followed, have been adding needed tools of humor to my toolbelt. I’ve been thinking that David reminding me about how he “was convinced one of the 3 of us weren’t gonna make it out of those first couple weeks” has helped reassure me. I’ve been thinking that seeing my little baby Brynn transform from toddler to child in front of my eyes has been preparing me this whole time.   I’ve been thinking that being unprepared is sort of what’s making me prepared. This thing I’ve been thinking about is self-compassion.

It’s one of the emotions that I had to learn last time as I was slapped in the face with all the others.  One that I had to learn as I experienced Mom guilt for working and going to school. One that I had to learn as I had to pump for the first few weeks and feed Brynn from a bottle because we just could not get a latch that didn’t leave me bleeding and Brynn screaming. One that I had to learn as I realized that I didn’t “enjoy every minute” like everyone kept demanding I do as a new mom. One that I had to learn as I couldn’t get my year old to sleep through the night.  One I had to learn as I got up because my 18month old still cried out in the night.  One that I had to learn as I got up last night because my 2.5yr old still cries out in the night sometimes. One that I learned as I secretly relished getting up to sing her a song back to sleep because pretty soon it won’t be just her and I know I’m going to miss that specialness.

I’m not talking about self-confidence or liking myself- those I’ve never really had a problem with. I’m talking about being compassionate to myself in the midst of the emotions that aren’t the ones that are advertised on the diaper commercials.  Of being kind to myself when feeling sad after dropping Brynn off at daycare when she says “I don’t want to go to school. I want to stay with Mama.” Not ignoring the sadness or pretending it isn’t there- but knowing its ok to feel sad in that moment because I’m human. I’m talking about extending the same compassion to myself when I get annoyed too easily because I’m 8 months pregnant and just don’t feel like lifting Brynn onto the toilet for the 4th time in a row when I know she’s just stalling going to bed that I would to a friend.    I’m talking about acknowledging the fact that motherhood is not all butterfly kisses and smiling selfies –  and that’s ok.

And I think that maybe this time I might need an extra large dose of self-compassion as I experience all those emotions of having a newborn plus the emotions that I’m sure will surface as my heart expands to hold both my little loves at the same time. As an added layer of pride and surge of love occurs as I see Brynn hold her little sister for the first time, after months of practicing with her baby doll and talking to her through my belly. As my girls start to develop a relationship formed by blood but hopefully bound by love and friendship.  As our little family starts to make memories in our house that’s been prepared by the same hands that will hold our girls.  So many emotions for this self-proclaimed “thinker” to experience and look forward to with knowing, nervous apprehension and overwhelming joy.

So maybe those people are right after all- maybe I am more prepared because I know what to expect.  Maybe the fact that I’m expecting the unexpected with an attitude of compassion is what constitutes as being ready this time around. I think that’s really the only way to be ready for the anticipated busyness that’s coming.

And I think I’m ok with that.

 

My Forever Baby

“I’m not baby. I Brynn!”  This was your response to me the other day, and has been many times since then when I said “Here ya go Baby” and handed you your Minnie Mouse sippy cup. Your little toddler face all scrunched up in that already perfected “Come on Mom” exasperated look. Not baby?? But you are my Baby Brynn! Of course you aren’t the only one.  I also have been hearing “You know, you don’t have a baby anymore. Brynn is a full on child.” And I look at you, my sweet little 2 year old, and I see what they are saying- physically I see a tall, thinned out kid who runs and jumps and tries to sing the ABC’s and speaks in little sentences and wants her full head of curly hair done like Poppy’s from Trolls.  My eyes see it. Yet…. Not my baby??

Last night you patted my tummy and said “Baby in Mama’s belly” and gave your little sibling a “baby kiss” (as opposed to a “big kiss”) and I wondered if that is where the “I’m not baby” is coming from. Do you think there can only be one Mama’s baby at a time? I often wonder the same thing little love. After having you, I was terrified of having another kid because I didn’t think I could love another little person as much as I do you. And now that I am pregnant, I love the little baby growing in my belly, but it is still hard for me to comprehend how my little Mama heart is going to multiply once again so it can live outside my body in yet another little human. Because that’s what happens you know. My heart didn’t just expand to hold more love for you, my little Brynn, it multiplied and then when you entered the world, you took that heart with you into the world. Everytime you get sick, my heart hurts; everytime you cry “Mama!” in the night, my heart hears it and wants to go to you, even if I know you are just trying to get my attention; everytime I see you being big and brave and daring, my heart skips a beat thinking about you falling; everytime you ask Dada if he is ok when he coughs, my heart swells; all those things and more sweet girl- because you carry my heart around with you everywhere you go. And I guess your sibling will too come June.

But they won’t take that heart from you Baby Girl.

That heart you took from me on November 8, 2015 that made you my baby- you keep that forever. When the new baby comes and our attention gets pulled from you- you’ll still be my baby.  And when you start Kindergarten and probably won’t bat an eye going to your new classroom- you’ll still be my baby.  And when you don’t want Dada and I to read you books, because you can read them yourself- you’ll still be my baby.  When you decide your friends are cooler than your parents and want to hang out with them instead of us- you’ll still be my baby.  When you get in trouble at school for talking too much- you’ll still be my baby. When your attitude blossoms along with your body into teenagehood- you’ll still be my baby. When you graduate high school and move away to college- you’ll still be my baby.  When you get married and start a family of your own- you’ll still by my baby. And when I’m old and grey and you are not so young yourself- my baby still you will be.

And that’s the thing I’m learning, little big one, that no matter how old you get, or how many siblings you have, you will always be my sweet sweet Baby Brynn.

Mama loves you now and for always.

 

hillners-2

On this momentous day…

I dropped you off at daycare this morning and your teacher said “She looks so cute today!” and she was right, I dressed you up extra cute today and told her why; “It’s her birthday today!” She said , “Aww, how old is she turning? One?” I confirmed, and she said “Really? I thought she’s been one for a long time now?!” I smiled and nodded because you’ve been surprising us from the start.

You surprised me when you made two little lines appear on the stick. You surprised me every time you kicked me from the inside of my body. You surprised me when you didn’t want to come out. You surprised me when you came out and were almost 10lbs. You surprised me when you instantly became my second favorite human on this earth. You surprised Dada and I when you started smiling at us at four weeks old (no one believed us until they saw it for themselves). You surprised us when you shot pee at our faces during your first few days of life. You surprised us when you got sick and we had to take you to the ER. You surprised us at how scared we got. You surprised us when you started rolling over. You surprised us when you started sitting on your own. You surprised us when you started pulling up on things when you were 6.5months old. You surprised us when you started standing on your own at 8months old. You surprised us when you started walking at 9months old. You surprised us when we went on a 18hr car ride and you barely cried at all. You surprised us when you started pointing at things and making noises that sounded like questions. You surprised us when you started saying “mama” and “dada.” You surprised us when we said “go get your shoes” and you walked over to the shoe rack and brought us your shoes. You surprised us when you pointed at the ball and said “ba?” You surprise us when you hear an airplane, you look towards the sky pointing until you can see it and you squawk in delight until it is out of view. You surprise us with your enthusiasm for trees. You surprise us with you constant giggles and cackling. You surprise us when you give us kisses. You surprise me when I pick you up from daycare and you squeal and run to me with your little arms reaching up for me. You surprise us when you run and you are only 12 months old. You surprise us when we are putting your clothes on and you know when to switch your bottle from one hand to the other so we can pull your arm through the armholes of your shirt. You surprised us when daycare told us twice they had to move you up to the older classroom because you were trampling the other kids your age. You surprise us with the size and potency of your diapers. You surprise me every morning when I realize I can’t wait to go to your room and get you up for the day. You surprise me when Dada and I say to each other at night after you’ve gone to bed “I miss Brynn, let’s go wake her up to play with her!” You surprise me that I’m afraid to have another kid because I’m afraid there is no way I could love anyone else this much. You surprise me with your extroversion. You surprise us when you get delirious when you stay up past your bed time. You surprise me with your love of people. You surprise me with your wonder and awe at everything you see.

On this day that you will read about in your textbook as not one of the better moments in America’s history, I say this to you my daughter:

Keep surprising people. Not with the fact that you learned to walk early or with the success I’m sure you will have in school. Those things are great, but this world has lots of early walkers and good students. What this world needs to be surprised with is your joy. Keep surprising people with your genuine, indiscriminating love of people and love to be around people. Keep surprising people with your excitement over things the world deems mundane. Keep surprising people with your ability to make people laugh in spite of, or despite, themselves. Keep surprising people with how much you make them care. Keep surprising people with your squeals of delight and screeches of endearment. Keep surprising people with your refusal to give in to the darkness that permeates our world. Keep surprising people with your curiosity and desire to learn. Keep surprising people with kindness. Surprise people with your ability to love people with differing views. Surprise people with your empathy. Surprise people with your desire to seek out truth. Surprise people with your selflessness. Surprise people with caring less about creations than their creators.  Surprise people by standing up for those that get discriminated against. Surprise people with your confidence in yourself. Surprise people with your lack of bitterness in such a bitter world and time. Surprise people with peace in discouraging times. Surprise people by advocating for those who can’t advocate for themselves. Surprise people with grace in ungraceful situations. Surprise people with enough independence to admit your dependence. Surprise people with strength of character. Surprise people with your lack of hate in a hate saturated society. Surprise people with humility. Surprise people with comfort when they are hurting. Surprise people with love.

Because baby girl, this world needs to be surprised and you’ve been surprising us from the start. Don’t stop now.

Happy happy 1st birthday my sweet baby Brynn.

Mama loves you.

brynn

“You are protected, in short, by your ability to love.” -Albus Dumbledore