You amaze me. I hugged you tight so many times this week, my little bean. You’re getting to that stage where you’re all soft and warm and squishy like I always imagined you would be (you weren’t at the beginning! you were so small and fragile).
So many times this week I tried to just stop and freeze time and hold you close. My sweet daughter. I love you SO much.
I started knitting again this week, and I dreamed of the day when I might be able to teach you how to knit.
After your nightly 8-9 hour stretch of sleep (thank you by the way), I usually nurse you when you wake up at 4:30 or 5am and then you usually sleep another three hours. When you wake up around 8-8:30, in the few precious minutes before your dad has to get up and get ready for work, we put you in the middle of the bed in between us (you’re usually back to sleep by this point), and we both just stare at you and grin like crazy fools at each other. Most days this short, sweet ritual makes me tear up because I realize that my whole world’s happiness is right in front of me.
When you finally wake up for good, I take off your swaddle, and you reach your arms up and stretch, and it’s the cutest thing ever. I also say Stretttttttttchhhh just like we do in yoga. 🙂
And then you start kicking, like a lot. You kick and kick and kick, and it’s the best. I usually sit beside you and dance. Our lives are kinda the best right now. 🙂
I watched you see a christmas tree for the first time this week. We had decorated the tree one night after you went to sleep, and the next afternoon you were sleeping in my arms. I saw you slowly open your eyes and suddenly you were fixated across the room. I realized that the light timer had kicked in, and you were staring at the christmas tree’s twinkling lights. Your first sight of a christmas tree. I held my breath and watched you see the sparkle, and then I walked you up to the tree so you could see it up close. You kept soaking it in, and I got to witness the magic.
You’ve been more fearful this week. You’ve woken from your naps a few times, and your cries seemed so scared. It’s new and each time it makes me so sad. I hold you close and rock you softly until you calm (usually within seconds). Mama is here. Mama’s got you. I say those phrases a several times each day. Mama’s here. Mama’s got you. My heart aches for you, and it’s also an indescribable feeling to be able to comfort you and calm you. I know I won’t always be able to rock away your fears, but I will always be here for you.
You’re changing so quickly. Your hair started growing in thick this week (literally, overnight). Your dad and I woke up one morning and were like, whoa. look at her hair!
You’ve found your hands. You grab and hold onto things now. You’ve started holding your paci and your burp cloth. It’s amazing how you can go from not being able to do something like that in the morning to grabbing things left and right in the afternoon. You change so quickly.
You’re still talking so much. Sometimes you and I have this whole conversation-like-thing where I’m talking and you’re cooing, and I imagine the long conversations we’ll have some day. I secretly hoped you’d be a talker like mama.
I look closely at your eyes each day to see if they’ve started turning. I’m so curious to see if they will change color over night or if the change will be so gradual that I can’t see it happen. They still look grey so far, except that right now you have a lovely brown fleck in your left eye.
This week I unexpectedly had to go into work for a few hours. I brought you with me, and you were such a champ. People smiled and hugged you close and cooed at you. You grinned and cooed right back, giving away your smiles.
It was a bit stressful getting sucked back in to work, but it’s helping me to not take the next month and a half for granted. I can’t believe that pretty soon I won’t get to play and snuggle you all day. My heart aches already.
I’ve thought a lot about working moms and stay at home moms, and all the crappy walls of judgment we build between us. And it all makes me so sad. We should support all moms regardless, because being a mom is hard no matter how you choose to walk that path, and gosh darn it, we need each other! We need each other’s love and support, because we weren’t meant to do this alone.
For me, I know that my path is leading me back to work for lots of reasons that are specific to me. I’m passionate about my job, and I really believe in my work and love it and the people that I work with. I think it’s rare to be in a place where you truly respect the work you’re doing and the impact you’re making (and the people you’re doing it with), and I’m in that place. It may not always be the right path for me, but it definitely is for now.
I want you to know that I don’t choose this path lightly. There is a part of me that thinks about staying home with you because iloveyousomuch and I can’t imagine not being with you everysecondofeveryday, but I know I wouldn’t be happy if I didn’t go back to the job I love. The best way I can be the best mom for you is being the truest form of me, so that what I’m going to keep aiming for. But it doesn’t mean I won’t miss you terribly (I will). I’m crying already as I write this at the very thought of leaving you to head off to work.
All I know is this: I hope some day you find a path, a place, a role that challenges you to be bigger and greater and where you can laugh and make friends and feel like you’re contributing (at home. in an office. out of an office. it doesn’t matter). I want you to feel passionately excited about your role. If you’re not, change it. Live the life you have imagined. Right now. Today. Don’t wait, and don’t be afraid to keep changing and evolving as your dreams change.
Being your mom is a dream I’m living right now, and I’m so incredibly grateful for this path.
You are so loved, my Beanshine, always,