A Letter to My Daughter on Her First Birthday

March 1, 2013 By 3 Comments

My Kinsey girl,

Today, you are one. Today, we celebrate every piece of you. One year ago, today, I did not know how much my life would change. One year ago, today, I loved you, but did not know how much that love would stretch/grow/fill/change/complete. One year ago, today, your Pop Pop and I were celebrating over pink frosted Dunkin donuts. Today, we celebrate with pancakes and a million kisses. Our family of 2 (4, if you count Franny & Zoey), became a family of 3 (or 5), and the completion that you bring is indescribably beautiful.

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Today, we celebrate a year of you. We celebrate the fact that we not only survived it, but somehow loved every moment of it. I would not be the mother that I am, without the many sleepless nights, and the middle of the night tears. You would not be my beautiful girl, without the smiles, and screams, and doggie ear pulls. Every hour/minute/second that I am yours, I feel more completed and amazed that you are mine. Truth: you make me better. More loving. More patient. More generous. Not just a better mother, but also a better wife, daughter, sister, and friend. I did not expect that. The part where you teach me things about myself, while I am teaching you that walking does not have to be scary and loud noises are a part of life (dog barks, especially). We don’t have to cry every time I take away the television remote, because there are buckets of toys waiting to be played with, and baskets of stuffed animals waiting for your hugs. And while I am teaching you little lessons, you are transforming the very core of me.

I need you to know that even today, when you are ‘only’ one, I know in my heart of hearts that you are special. You speak only in baby chatter, (with the exception of Mama, and “duh” which translates as “duck”), yet I still know that you are a treasure. I can see all of you, and am already so proud/blessed/amazed at the the little person that you are becoming.

For your birthday, we bought you the book, “I Love You, Through and Through.” It has become a very quick favorite. You talk to the pages, and when you are upset, we can read it to you and you are instantly calmed by its words. I am choosing to believe that you understand that it is not just a story. We mean it. Every single word. And, I hope that you can feel it. Every. Single. Word.

I love you, through and through.

I love your top side.

I love your bottom side.

I love your inside,

and outside.

I love your happy side,

your sad side,

your silly side,

and your mad side.

I love your fingers and toes,

your ears and nose.

I love your hair and eyes,

your giggles and cries.

I love you running and walking,

silent and talking.

I love you through and through.

Yesterday, today, and tomorrow too.

Happy Birthday, my sweet Kinsey girl. You are simply the best ever.

Love, that surpasses anything that I ever thought was possible,

Your Mama.

Filed Under: Letters to my Daughter, Mommyhood

A Letter to My Daughter (II)

December 12, 2012 By Leave a Comment

Sometimes you will feel like you are the only one in the world. But, the truth of it is, you are the only one in the world to us. My heart is completely yours, and even when your Pop Pop and I try not talking about you, somehow, you always find your way back in. These last two weeks were exceptionally difficult–for me, but really, it was hard for you. Your first two teeth are finally cutting through your gums, but it took two weeks of pain and crying to get here. I am hoping future teeth are less bothersome, because if we have to go through this again, I may question modern medicine and their inability to figure out how to take an infant’s pain away.

I feel defeated sometimes, but I also feel like a badass Mama sometimes. I like that I know your sounds and cries, and have gotten to know your needs and wants. We know each other. We spend our days together, and everyday I get to tell your Pop Pop about all of the new things that you explored.

You stand. And, it feels like just yesterday that you started to crawl. But, that was not yesterday, and now you stand, and once again I am reminded that time is fleeting.

You burnt your finger on a too hot carrot yesterday. My fault, not yours. And, my heart broke. Even when I am trying to protect you, I will mess up, and that is the part about parenting that scares me the most.

Last night, you woke up crying in pain, and I picked you up, and you cuddled on my shoulder. You curled up in a little ball, stuck your thumb in your mouth, and squeezed me tightly.

Be still my heart. 

I love you, my little. So, so, much. I am sorry about the carrot. And, about the dog food that you shoved in your mouth yesterday that I promptly and violently dug out of your cheek.

The good news is that we are making it–you are 9 months and 2 weeks, and together, somehow, we are figuring this whole mother-daughter thing out. I am just as surprised as you are.

Love you to the moon and back,

Mama

Filed Under: Letters to my Daughter, Mommyhood Tagged With: , , , , , , , ,

A Letter to My Daughter

August 27, 2012 By 2 Comments

Kinsey,

You will be 6 months old this week, in 5 days to be exact. I have been your Mama for 6 whole months (plus the 9 that you were in utero, but I didn’t do much mothering then, mostly eating). When I think about that, and really focus in on how much time has passed, I gasp for air–because, I can not grasp onto the 6 months of memories as firmly as I would like. People say that when you have children, time goes by at warp speed. I always thought it was a silly thing to say, but now I have you, and guess what, I blink, and suddenly, I am not a 2-day seasoned mother anymore. Nope. I now have 6 months of it under my belt, and you aren’t just a blob that sleeps and eats, you actually see me, and you grab onto my face with your little hands, and you smile real big every time I say your name. But, I love this season of life more than the last, and I have a feeling that this will always be the case. Right now, you see me, and I see you, and we play together, and laugh together, and my job has become so much more than just keeping you alive. I want to keep you small. I want to go back in time and re-live the last 6 months just one more time, because while I love the 6-month old you, I think that I blinked. You will never be that small again, and time only froze the moment that you were born. Since then, the clock hands have been rotating at a speed that I am not comfortable with and before I know it, you will be a year old, crawling and eating real people food, and I’ll be sitting in the corner at your birthday party sobbing (let’s hope this is only half true).

So. Here we go. Happy Half-Birthday. Please give me grace on the days that I have the deer in the headlights look. I swears I was sporting it every single day last week, but you need to realize that trying to take care of a sick baby that doesn’t know how to blow her nose is one of the most challenging forms of patience that I can think of…not to mention your aversion to the touch of the tissue. And, if you can help it at all, slow down just a little bit; you are growing too fast, and right now, my little heart feels fragile. The thought of this time never existing again is completely mind-blowing emotional. Let’s both agree to just take a couple minutes, every single day, and just be. Breathing in the moment, and allowing ourselves to just be still. Maybe I’ll just promise to do this, and you can go about life as usual, that works too.

I love you, my little, and I promise you, this will not be the last time that you hear the words “you are growing up too fast.”

Filed Under: Letters to my Daughter Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , ,
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