Marian, it's been a long time since I've written about just how deeply crazy I am about you. I've covered some of the milestones, the miles traveled and some of your funny quirks of personality. Somehow, I've forgotten to slow down and just write about the wonder of belonging to you.
Last night I leaned over your crib (yep, that's right, you sleep in one of those now) and put my hand on your back and my head on the side of the bed and just fell into the rhythm of your breathing. The moon was full outside and it lit up the room enough for me to see you clearly as you twitched just a little bit under the lightness of my hand. I was overwhelmed by my love for you, my little baby, sleeping with one hand curled around Douglas the Dog and your legs all tucked underneath you.
It seems impossible that just over a year ago you were tiny enough for me to lift with one hand, that you couldn't talk or walk or bite. All this seems to be moving so fast and I'm well aware that in what will seem like a few months you'll be graduating from high school. That's why I'm definitely holding you back in kindergarten for three or four years.
If I could suspend time, I think I would be tempted to freeze it right now. I know I said similar things when you were four months, at six months, etc. I remember thinking that it just couldn't get any better than this--and then it did. You wake up every day and do something new, funny, smart (and often frustrating, like when you meticulously filled my tennis shoe to the brim with water from Peanut's bowl). Watching you grow is the most interesting thing I've ever witnessed and I anticipate the ways we'll both be challenged as you continue to question and learn. I love you in your active moments and I love you in the stillness of the night when the sound of your breathing and occasionally a little sleep talking sounds like a symphony. Being your mom is the sweetest job in the world.
1 comment:
Marian, I'd like to write a little about your mom, because as much as this blog is about you it's also about her. Growing up, I had a huge love of dolls. Virginia Ann (who you met and loved dragging around by her hair) was my baby. I would dress her up each day and pretend to drop her off for school before heading out for my day. I don't think your momma really got this. She was not a doll person and I don't remember ever playing house with her. So I think somewhere inside me I never quite thought of her as a mother. But boy has that changed. From the moment you were created, something in her changed. Anyone who knows her can sense it - this deep attachment to you. I don't think you could have asked for a better mother, and the world would be a sadder place if she had not been given the gift of you. You have turned my sister into this incredible loving, protective, poetic person. You have made her a mother and for all the ways that touches those of us that love her, I thank you. I thank you for giving her the gift of motherhood, because nothing suits her better. One day you'll hear all the stories about your mom and I, and all of our struggles. Not all of the stories are happy, but like the fairy tales, I feel we have found our happy ever after. I love your mother, as a sister, as a friend, and now as my niece's mom. Thank you Amy, for reminding me what true love looks like.
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