wa'mo

This past Christmas we bought William the cutest little wooden espresso maker. Because, of course, I love coffee and was giddy about the idea of a tiny kid coffee maker. It's impossibly adorable that this exists. Sometimes kids aren't as excited as you are about certain things, but thankfully this wasn't one of those times. He loved it.

I think at that point he only knew the color green because it was the color of Starbucks, and he heard me say "we're getting in the car because mama needs coffee!" more often than any other sentence in his life. Whatever the reason, he was actually very happy about his coffee maker. I taught him how to use it - pod in the slot, push the top down, fill the cup, pour some cream & sugar, stir with the spoon, ooh careful! Make sure you blow on it - and thus we ushered in the first piping hot cup of make believe. We both tried it, and agreed it was the best thing we'd ever had.

He actually made me some of this very special coffee this morning. He even let Ginny have some, making the sipping noises for her. After I've theatrically enjoyed my own sips, he always asks: "you wa'mo?" in his hopeful little way. Yes, William. I want more.

I want more of this imagination of yours. I want to drink your coffee every single morning. I want to remember the way your eyes squint and your voice goes progressively higher when you really, really want to postpone bedtime. "I can read more books?" or "I can have my new car in the bed?"
I want more of your surprised laughter, the kind that tumbles out of your little belly and lasts so much longer than either of us expects it to. And I seriously don't want you to ever realize that my kisses don't actually heal your wounds. I want to be more like you, and exclaim "I'm HAPPY!!!" after something doesn't go my way, but I make that choice anyway. I want more of your whispered words and the way your eyes search for me when you've wandered just a little out of reach. The way you run full tilt and hug my legs so tightly. I want more of the way you follow me and ask to do whatever it is I'm doing, too, just because you want to be with me some more.

I want more of your dancing, which consists almost exclusively of your left shoulder bouncing up and down. It's the only part of you that truly can't resist a good beat. I want more of the way you proudly gesture to your stuffed animals each morning and say, "Lookit! Look at all of my friends." I want more of the sneaky way you take care of Ginny, bringing her toys and giving her kisses and rubbing her little fuzzy hair on your face until it tickles your nose. I can never get it on camera, because you really only do it when you think you guys are alone. And it makes me so proud to be your mother.

So be sure, William. Don't ever doubt it. In fact, you never even have to ask.
Because with you, I will always, always wa'mo.

when your family grows

This is something I have started to write many times, but it was only in the last few weeks that I finally found the words. I was able to articulate them while speaking to a dear friend who is about to have her second baby. I often have strong feelings about my own motherhood experiences, but I think it is sometimes in moments of empathy that we're able to reach through and grasp the things that we truly want to share with other people. Understanding, support, love, perspective, the bright side of change and the beauty of life.

I have seen so many young moms in the past year anxiously awaiting a new addition to their family. For me, becoming a mom was fairly easy. It felt right. I eased into the role of staying home with William and felt blessed to do so. I realized pretty quickly that my introverted self flourished in the intimacy of the one-on-one baby life. Chill pajama time for days. When we got pregnant with our second baby, I started having a hard time. I confided in a few moms what I was feeling:

Guilt. What if I don't love this baby the way I love William? Why is it so sad and hard to say goodbye to this time of life? Fear. How will I balance the two of them? What if I'm not able to be with William as much? What if he needs me? How will this new baby fit into our family? I like things the way they are. 

These wonderful women all said the same thing: I felt the same way. And trust me. That will all evaporate the second you meet your new baby. Your heart will burst and multiply and you will wonder how you ever thought there wouldn't be room in your heart or home for this new life.

The funny thing is, I'm baby number 3 in my own family! So obviously I should have known that the best is yet to come. But there are a couple of things that work against us here. The hormones, fatigue, and sickness of early pregnancy are rough. They don't help those feelings of inadequacy. We also didn't find out the gender which, though an incredible birth experience, made it a bit more difficult to feel bonded throughout the pregnancy. I had no idea I held my little girl within me. I couldn't know her, dream about her, call her by name, tell Will about her. In the midst of my fear of change, I think those things may have helped some of that anxiety.

I confess that I shed many tears as I held onto Will extra tight, and realized that our era was coming to an end. It was very hard, friends. I say you should embrace those feelings. It is okay to be sad and realize that your time together has been incredibly precious to you. Allow yourself to cherish your time with your firstborn, and feel so lucky to have him/her as your oldest child. None of your other kids will get this time! Your oldest is unique, and is the only child to be spoiled this way. It is a treasured time of learning for you both. They will make a wonderful big brother/sister. They will lead and love on your other babies and it will seriously bless you tenfold for the rest of your life.

I was very surprised by:

1.) How much I immediately and overwhelmingly adored Ginny. Like whoa. After we brought her home, I couldn't believe how nervous I had been. She belonged in our family. From the very beginning. I think our bodies help with this, too. The hormones of birth, nursing, etc. God designed us with such purpose.

2.) How much time I still have with Will! Newborns sleep SO much at first, it's crazy. It's funny how quickly we forget. Even if the nights are rough, their entire cycle revolves around eating and sleeping. That's all they do. And they can't move. Haha. They will stay put. I actually started feeling more guilty about my lack of time with Ginny, rather than with Will. Ginny spends a lot of time elsewhere: her mat, her swing, her bumbo. When Will was a newborn I had all the time in the world to just stare at him and worry over every hiccup. But Ginny gets to chill while Will and I play. I'm much more relaxed with her.

3.) How extraordinary it is to shepherd William's heart into being a caring, protective, loving big brother. Getting him up in the morning and hearing him say, "where's Ginny girl?" is the most amazing thing on earth. Seeing him perk up, constantly attentive to her cries, tenderizes my heart. Their relationship is a lifelong promise. It teaches & sanctifies on the daily.

All of that to say... don't try to force your feelings, or fall into guilt over them. It is truly impossible to imagine what having another baby will be like for your family until it happens. Dusty reminded me of New Year's Eve, 2015, when I was days away from having William. I cried SO MUCH that night. I was so sad it was our last one together, just us. And now I literally cannot imagine our lives (and our New Year's Eves) without our children. When we do a group hug and William whispers, "Mommy, Daddy, William, Ginny. This is our family!" I flutter quietly to the ground like confetti. Every chapter has a bittersweet ending, but I promise the sweetness wins out.

Sending love to you and your (quite literal) growing pains, moms. They are so worthwhile!

curator of dreams

Remember when I used to write here?

It has been over a year since I clicked these keys with this kind of purpose, and it feels pretty good. William is now two years old, and we have welcomed a beautiful baby girl, Ginny, to our family. I spoke in my last post about the brevity of life, and I feel that now more keenly than ever!

Sigh. So William is two. It's crazy. He is a fabulous, creative, sweet, inquisitive, hilarious two year old. I have started to realize in these past few months that his first memories are lurking around us, bound to be etched somewhere in these colorful days. They are forming as we speak. I am so curious about which experiences his little mind will cling to. Will he remember the days when it felt like he and I were the only ones in the world, dancing in the living room and loving the simplest things? 

I remember odds & ends about my childhood, but many of my early memories have to do with make-believe, magic, and bedtime stories. In the stories my dad used to tell us, we were always the heroes. We met fantastic friends and daring creatures and we always, always won the day. How wonderful it was to have my imagination shaped, tended to, and nourished by my parents. I am beginning to realize what a mighty gift that is.

It is so incredibly exciting to have the honor of introducing the things that will someday produce nostalgia in the hearts of our children. I am a curator of dreams. It's a wondrous thought. At this beautiful age, everything that William sees, reads, tastes, and enjoys is more or less organized by us. We parent the archive of whimsy. We pass along things we loved as children, and find renewed joy in them through the eyes of our little ones. Things like the rooster minstrel from Disney's Robin Hood, and Renaissance Festival pizza. We then discover new loves together, like the Little Blue Truck books and Cadbury milk chocolate mini eggs. It is a fabulous journey. 

It won't always be this way, of course. As he continues to grow, he will find his own way more and more. He will develop preferences apart from ours, and he may even decide he doesn't like certain meals I make (gasp), or songs I listen to. All of these day-to-day toddlerhood things will eventually just be a tiny part of who he is. They will fade away, one by one, just as his habit of saying "I do!" to every question has now matured into a hearty "yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah". He will develop around and past them, and I will count myself blessed a hundred times over to know his future self the way I know him as a little boy. 

But right now? We dance to the Greatest Showman soundtrack, belting a million dreams, and he feeds off of my excitement, finding joy in the things we can share. His mind is a fascinating thing, reaching its many tendrils outward and constantly grasping at the things it loves best. Words, sounds, faces, meaning. I will use this time to imbue as much dreaminess to his memories as I can, so that one day we might be able to look back together and say, remember when all was magical? When you and I danced, and were the only ones in the world.