One year ago today I was beginning the best day of my life. Big JAR was excitedly timing my contractions while I tried to pretend I was calm and collected. He rubbed my belly and said over and over, "this is it, we're having a baby today!"
Today I am the only one awake, picking pieces of excrement out of the dog kennel. No one is cheering for me or wishing me luck. Instead of shining with adoration, Big JAR's eyes will be heavy with sleep. He might mutter, "good morning" or "did you feed the dogs?"
Despite this, as I slurp my coffee and get ready for a day of meetings I consider myself beyond lucky.
Happy birthday, cupcake. I love you.
The jars are currently irrelevant. It seemed like a solid theme in 2011 and I'm too tired to rethink it. Also, should I even have a blog in 2020?
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Saturday, January 8, 2011
A Letter To My One-Year-Old
Baby JAR,
Soon you will be one. It's incomprehensible to me how one year has passed so quickly. When you were a newborn, middle-aged women would see you, sigh, and say, "enjoy this, it goes too fast." I believed them at the time, but I couldn't grasp it. Couldn't really imagine you being anything but this tiny, clenched little person balled against my chest. Now I have a sneaking suspicion that I will be that wistful woman in the grocery store before I can say hormone replacement therapy.
The day you were born was truly the best day of my life. I was a little sad knowing that I would never feel you roll around in my belly again, but I could not believe how much more amazing it was to hold you and look into your dark eyes. I spent the first week of my maternity leave just staring at you. I said little prayers on the hour, thanking God for choosing me to be your mom. Disbelief. Awe. Joy. Gratitude. Heart-stopping-bursting-swelling, do-anything-for-you love. And that doesn't even begin to describe it.
Today you are practically a toddler. You are beginning to take cautious uneven steps before falling onto the thick padding of your cloth diaper. You say cccchh for cat, numnumnum for food, nien for no, mama for mama, dadadada for daddy, dogs, and pretty much any other noun. You love music. Every moment is the right moment to dance if the music moves you. I love that about you. You are fascinated by buttons, levers, plugs, and knobs. It doesn't take long for you to figure out how things work. You love your dogs. Marley and Mabel are your best pals. I love to watch you hold out a teething biscuit, let each dog have a little lick or bite, grin widely, and then pop it back into your own mouth.
I hope that you keep that love of animals. I am of the opinion that animal lovers are good people. Be good people.
I hope that you spend more of your time and thought on relationships than on material things.
I hope that you learn how to laugh at yourself. Loudly. It will make your life so much easier. Not to mention more amusing.
I hope that whatever you choose to do, you improve the world in some small way. Create something. Build, sculpt, write, paint a picture or a house, make music, recycle, pick a worm off of the sidewalk and put it back in the dirt, make a joke, smile, surprise people with kindness.
And know that whatever you do with your life, I will love you ferociously. Always.
I love you.
Mommy
Soon you will be one. It's incomprehensible to me how one year has passed so quickly. When you were a newborn, middle-aged women would see you, sigh, and say, "enjoy this, it goes too fast." I believed them at the time, but I couldn't grasp it. Couldn't really imagine you being anything but this tiny, clenched little person balled against my chest. Now I have a sneaking suspicion that I will be that wistful woman in the grocery store before I can say hormone replacement therapy.
The day you were born was truly the best day of my life. I was a little sad knowing that I would never feel you roll around in my belly again, but I could not believe how much more amazing it was to hold you and look into your dark eyes. I spent the first week of my maternity leave just staring at you. I said little prayers on the hour, thanking God for choosing me to be your mom. Disbelief. Awe. Joy. Gratitude. Heart-stopping-bursting-swelling, do-anything-for-you love. And that doesn't even begin to describe it.
Today you are practically a toddler. You are beginning to take cautious uneven steps before falling onto the thick padding of your cloth diaper. You say cccchh for cat, numnumnum for food, nien for no, mama for mama, dadadada for daddy, dogs, and pretty much any other noun. You love music. Every moment is the right moment to dance if the music moves you. I love that about you. You are fascinated by buttons, levers, plugs, and knobs. It doesn't take long for you to figure out how things work. You love your dogs. Marley and Mabel are your best pals. I love to watch you hold out a teething biscuit, let each dog have a little lick or bite, grin widely, and then pop it back into your own mouth.
I hope that you keep that love of animals. I am of the opinion that animal lovers are good people. Be good people.
I hope that you spend more of your time and thought on relationships than on material things.
I hope that you learn how to laugh at yourself. Loudly. It will make your life so much easier. Not to mention more amusing.
I hope that whatever you choose to do, you improve the world in some small way. Create something. Build, sculpt, write, paint a picture or a house, make music, recycle, pick a worm off of the sidewalk and put it back in the dirt, make a joke, smile, surprise people with kindness.
And know that whatever you do with your life, I will love you ferociously. Always.
I love you.
Mommy
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