Dear baby

Dear growing-too-fast-baby,

It’s hard to believe that eight (& a half at this point) weeks ago I was excited and anxious walking into the hospital oh so ready to meet you. It feels like just yesterday and also a hundred years ago. The tiny body I cuddled on my chest has grown so her feet dangle and remind me she’s not so little anymore. The funny floppy newborn had been replaced with a stout little baby. I marvel at the changes even as I try to hang on to the images of those days flying by.

We’ve had a good while to get to know one another now, my girl. We’ve shared something like 400 meals you and I. We’ve been through a whole lot of diapers, of outfit changes, of hours together. We’ve talked, we’ve cried, we’ve cuddled and napped. My arms are accustomed to your weight (even as it seems to increase over night), I know your voice, I’ve studied your face, your hands and feet. I may not always understand what you’re trying to tell me but I do try to remember to tell you I hear you. I see you. 

I notice when other people hold you they are precious about things I’ve learned to relax about. Every little noise, the weight of your head. I know things you like and don’t like, the things you protest more often than not. I have to remind myself sometimes – I know you. I have to remind other people sometimes – I am her Mama. When they think they’re being helpful with advice or wanting to do things for me. I don’t always do that reminding nicely. I feel the sting of insult and doubt in their helpfulness. And later when my stomach is churning because their words sound like you can’t do it and you aren’t good enough I have to remind myself that I’ve been doing this a little while now, and you and me we get through the hard moments just fine. I try to hear those voices that tell me you’re doing a good job instead. God sometimes sends me complete strangers to tell me that when I need it the most. I try really hard not to dismiss those words over the negative ones. I pray I’m always a positive voice for you.

Oh, my sweet love, how I wish you had a Mama that never made mistakes. That could snap her fingers when you want your bottle and it would appear warm and ready instead of those endless few minutes it takes to get it for you. That we never had to wait through long lines at the grocery store to get you home and out of the carseat. I wish I always had an instant magic touch to take away your discomfort. I will wish these things for the rest of your life. To nourish you. To protect you. To comfort you. I will always want to be better for you. That is what being your Mama means to me.

There have been countless moments in these last two months I’ve gotten lost in the ocean of love I feel when I look at you. Countless moments I’m so dang thankful and awed and overcome that you’re mine. You’re growing and changing so fast; I can’t believe how people are created and grow and become themselves. I see these bits of personality in you and I wonder what things are a phase and what things are just who you are. 

Will you always be such a serious baby? You have the most intense gaze and expressive eyebrows. You’re a studier, you don’t just glance around generally, but settle your eyes on people, on things, and really seem to try and figure it all out. When you smirk, smile and babble back at these adults in your life trying to entertain you it’s a little victory for us and I love it. 

Will your anger always be hard to calm? Once you get rolling with the protest cries it takes a bit of work to cool you off. Literally. You turn into a little fireball and I wonder as I work to help you ratchet back down if this is an indicator of how your temper will flare in later years. 

Will all your little idiosyncrasies stick? The liking to sleep on your belly, and throwing your arms up while you do.. The way you rub your head, or flex your toes… Will I see you do these things when you’re ten and twenty and remember back to these days that I studied those movements to better understand your tiny self? 

It’s hard to imagine you going off to school, driving a car, getting a job, dating (don’t mention that to dad). I know one day you’ll do all those things, and I worry over every milestone to come -from crawling to driving and every inch in-between. I hope I’m a good supporter, a champion cheerleader. I pray I don’t let my utter fear and terror of anything ever hurting you hold you back. I see you striving to get that little body of yours to move move the way you want and it makes those years seem like a blink. You’re so close to rolling over and right on its heals will come sitting, scooting, crawling, walking and running. I’m trying to prepare myself to chase you and cheer you even as I miss the baby you’ll leave behind. 

It sounds like a lot for a two month old, all these things you’re on there verge of doing. But I thought each stage of this journey would last forever and you’ve already shown me that every moment is fleeting and we’re not coasting in this life together. On no, kiddo, we’re speeding and I’m just trying to take blurry pictures out the window as these moments fly by.

I lay you down to sleep and can’t wait to hold you again. I’m so excited to see who you become in another month, two, three… It’s a honor this parenting thing God has granted me. Hardest thing I’ve ever done, and most blessed gift I’ve ever received.
Always.

Love, 

Mama

Dear Baby

Dear I-Can’t-Believe-You’re-Almost-Here Baby,

In a week or less now I’ll have a new name. You’ll be in my arms instead of in my belly and I’ll be called Mama. I write that down, and say it out loud, and still part of me lives in disbelief. I’ve felt for so long that you were a dream we’d forever be chasing that even now I have a hard time believing you’re going to be here. That must sound crazy to people on the outside of this journey. I mean I’ve been feeling you move now for a long time, I talk to you, I know you’re a real person about to be born. So it’s funny there’s still this part of me that can’t wrap itself around the fact that soon I’ll touch your skin, and hear your cries, and see your face. 

People always say birth is transformative and I’m anticipating that in whatever way you get from the inside out I will be changed forever. 

I have to say it that way, my little stubborn girl, because this birth thing is so unpredictable. You seem to have decided you are quite comfy in there and have no plans to prepare to come out anytime soon. In fact you’ve wedged yourself in at an odd diagonal so that you can use my liver as a pillow and my left kidney as a springboard. Despite my nudging and telling you it’s time to get ready you’re not turning on your own. I’ve also mentioned in what might be my ‘mom voice’ that if you don’t move they’ll come in and drag you out by your backside. Literally. Still you don’t care. I have a feeling this may be how our mother-daughter relationship will go.

I’ve also been thinking a lot about dads lately and how I’m so excited for you to meet yours. Though I’m admittedly pretty biased I do think you’re getting a really fantastic dad. I hope you come to enjoy sports and cars with him, that maybe you’ll share some of his passions. I also hope you’ll take to heart his model of what to expect from the people in your life. About what respect looks and feels like and what it doesn’t. About what love does and doesn’t do no matter the words used. Your dad is exceptional at making people feel valued and that’s the kind of person I hope you become too. 

I guess parents always hope for certain things for their children… We pray… Let her be a good person. Let her have compassion and be kind. And also…Let her be strong and courageous. To know when to fight for what she believes in, to fight for people and against injustice. Admittedly, it might sound like we pray you’ll become something of a super hero. But mostly we’re praying we raise a good human who recognizes other good humans when they cross her path. Mostly we pray we don’t screw up this parenting gig we’ve been begging God to give us.

So, as I prepare to begin this life as your mama I am both overcome with thankfulness that I got the job and overwhelmed with the task to be good at it. However it all unfolds, I do know this without a doubt-  This life with you and your dad is above and beyond and (even when it gets hard) is my most favorite adventure. 

Let’s get started.

Love,

Mama

Dear Baby

Dear I-can’t-wait-to-call-you-by-your-name-Baby, 

How’s it going in there? 

We’re 19 weeks into this grand adventure and that’s the question I ask over and over all the time. Hello? I say, How are you doing in there? So far you haven’t answered me, at least not in a way I can feel yet. 

Everyone tells me not to worry about that, that it’s early yet, that soon soon I’ll be feeling you lots and lots. I still search for you though. At night when I can’t sleep I hunt for you with my hand, with my heart. I wonder if every little thing might be you wiggling, waving, trying to get comfortable on the inside while I try and get comfortable out here. Sometimes that’s harder than it sounds, maybe it is for you too.

I search for you other times, too. I try and feel where your little home has reached as it moves up my belly from the inside. By this time next week you’re roof will be right in line with my belly button. When friends want to touch my belly (see everyone wants to feel you, to know you) they always reach too high yet. Down here, I say, touching where I know you’re hiding, finding the place the doctor last let us hear your heart beat. Strong and steady; I whisper encouragements to you. We can’t wait to meet you. 

In just a little while we’ll be seeing a special doctor to check in on you. We will look to see how you’re growing, and if you’re good to us we’ll find out what you’re name will be. You already have a name waiting for you to claim it. After all we have been waiting an awful long time for you to join us, there was so much anticipation and there were so many prayers -I might have called you from heaven by your name long before you made it into the cells here on earth. 

I think about who you will be, what it will be like to get to know you, watch you grow…hopefully I’ll be a good teacher. There’s this thing we say to moms when babies start to kick inside hard enough to see and feel on the outside. Maybe he/she’s a little soccer player. I think about that sometimes; who you’ll be. Will you be sporty like your dad? Will you want to play soccer or basketball? Or maybe you’ll be a dancer, and love to be on stage. Or maybe you’ll love art or music. Or a perfect combination of all of that. 

I imagine your dad and I cheering for you -embarrassing you with our enthusiasm, our encouragement, our love- no matter what you choose to pursue. You might roll your eyes at us; as we stand and clap, grinning like fools. I might cry with pride. Maybe you’ll wish we didn’t cause a scene, that I didn’t yell out quite so loud, or take so many pictures of every little thing. But, I hope you grow to secretly love it. That one day you’ll tell your friends, your kids, how silly we were and how crazy it was -our joy over you. That’s not a bad wish really -that we show our love in loud obnoxious ways. We want you to never doubt that we love you; big and loud and unabashed. 

All these dreams feel so far away right now while I search for a flutter from your tiny growing body. And I remind myself not to get so caught up in looking forward to the next phase that miss out on the miracle of the place I’m in. You’ll grow faster than I can imagine, and each step will be so fast I think before I know it I’ll wish backwards. For your life to slow down and for you to be little forever. So I bring myself back to the here and now with you. Small enough you’re keeping secrets a little longer. Small enough I can still mostly move around you, still see my feet, still put on my own shoes. It’ll be different before I know it and I want to embrace every step along the way. 

Love, 

Mama

Dear Baby

Dear I-Really-Hope-You’re-In-There Baby,

We are about a week from knowing if our prayers have been answered. While I’m worried and nervous your dad is calm and hopeful. He says of course we’re lucky enough to have you so soon after trying something new. I’m hopeful but with a skeptical eyebrow raised. I’m also hyper aware of every little feeling happening in my body right now. It’s like in the middle of the night when you think you hear a noise and you strain your ears to catch it again. That’s how I feel for every twinge, every sensation. Hoping and holding my breath Is that you?

We’ve made some progress on this little space in our house that will be yours. The Baby’s Room sounds like magic to us. You have new carpet; it is so soft and squishy and great for bare feet. I’ve unpacked the few boxes of baby items your dad & I have been collecting since we thought you were right around the corner. We never anticipated you’d be a half-dozen years down the road.

You have a Cars rug from your Aunt Kellie and her mom. We’re sure whatever gender you may be you’ll inherit the love of Cars from us. You also have a play mat that your Aunt Aubrey and I found during one of our yearly garage sale day excursions. We just couldn’t pass up a like new play mat for $3. In my dreams during our sale day this year you’ll be along for the ride and we’ll find lots of other great things for you.

Our too-long anticipation of you is all over this room. Your first piggy bank, it’s tractor shaped, is waiting for you next to a few books and many blankets. You already have blankets from both great-grandmothers and from me piled in your closet. You’ll never go cold or lack for comfort that is for sure!

Dear little seed,
You already have your very first onesies; in size 0-3 months, up to 12 pounds. I hold them and almost can’t believe humans start life so small. I also pray you’ll be tiny but mighty because I’m hoping for a natural birth. Be gentle on your mama, ok?

The glider (also from a great-grandma) where you and I will spend many an hour is ready for you. Sometimes I come in and rock and imagine your closet full of little clothes and toys. I imagine the sounds you’ll add to this room; your first crys, first laughs, baby hiccups is there anything better? I can’t wait to find out.

This week is a hard one, the waiting to know and trying to feel if you’re there yet or if we’ll be trying again. Your mama is an impatient woman and God is surely using you to teach me to change my ways. He will use you to teach me a great many things in sure. I’m just so eager for these lessons to begin, I hope you are too.

Love,
Your-Mama-In-Waiting

Dear Baby

Dear yet-to-be-created Baby,
    This is what it looks like outside your window today; the day we began painting your room. It’s a cold, wet, snowy day. Your dad and I picked this color a few days ago when the sun was shining with bright blue skies. One day you’ll understand just how common that is here in Colorado and you’ll tell people the cliche phrase we all say at least once in our lives “Don’t like the weather? That’s ok, just wait a minute. ”

    The color we chose is called Porpoise, it’s a beautiful medium grey. I’ve been dreaming about you for a long long time you see, so I’ve had nursery plans running around in my head quite a while. We obviously don’t know if you’ll be a boy or a girl so I tried to pick a color that was a good neutral. I’ve been loving greys lately in many things and so it seems just perfect for me to spread that color love all over the walls in the room that will one day be yours.
    Also, it doesn’t hurt that the color is Porpoise and your Florida-girl-mama happens to love marine wildlife. The only thing that could’ve made this color any better is if it had been called Manatee. One day I’ll share my love of water with you and we’ll take trips to the aquarium and the ocean and you’ll learn all about some seriously cool creatures. I think you’ve got a pretty decent chance of being an animal lover like your parents.
    Your Grandma Elaine and Aunt Sharon came to help me paint today. We talked about what your name might be and where your furniture might go. Your dad is with Grandpa Ralph working on tractors, something you’ll also come to find common. Something you could be doing with them, if you are so inclined, when you’re old enough. Boy or girl we hope to encourage you to follow your interests wherever they might lead you. Plus, your dad would love to have a tractor pull pal and to teach you all about his passion.
    You’ll be one lucky little human, because your dad is an excellent teacher. He knows lots about mechanics and sports and all sorts of things, and he makes them easy to understand and interesting even when they really aren’t ‘your thing’. I speak from experience, my love, because many of his things aren’t mine, but I still love for him to teach me about them.
    You might find it funny little yet-to-be-created child of mine that we are so eager to get started creating this space for you. That’s something we’ll teach you about together: walking in faith. Sometimes you just act in the direction of your dreams and trust God to get you through. You’ll also learn your mama is a ridiculously hopeful, optimistic person. Even my darkest moments can’t talk my heart out of believing in miracles, and that’s what you’ll be for us -a beautiful miracle.
    So, my miracle-waiting-to-happen, we’re working on your place and when you’re ready to come we’ll be ready to welcome you home.
   Love,
Your-Mama-In-Waiting