A letter to my first born on Mother's Day

Dear Walter,

You are asleep now--it's been a busy day. This whole Mother's Day weekend has been busy for you, with lots of walking outside in the (finally!) beautiful weather, making me breakfast in bed (cinnamon rolls, scrapple and tea,) eating and dancing and listening intently to Spanish guitar at the cultural festival, procuring and playing and playing and playing with an ice cream bucketful of Hot Wheels (best garage sale purchase, ever,) blowing bubbles, playing with Umma and Baba, baking cupcakes (chocolate wacky cake,) and making frosting (the best vanilla buttercream I've ever tasted,) eating cupcakes, using the potty and wearing underpants, dancing to some Irish fiddle music on the folk show, learning how to spit when you brush your teeth ... whew.

You and me and Sally this morning

You had a lot of fun this weekend, and I had a lot of fun being with you. You are two-and-half-years-old and very handsome, with wavy blonde hair, big blue eyes and your Daddy's incredibly long eyelashes. You are thoughtful; sometimes pensive. You love to sing and will often just spontaneously break out into song. "Don't tell me that it's morning," you sang to me on Saturday morning, "Just keep the curtains drawn!" "If you keep the good times rolling, I'm your boy, I'm your boy!" "It's alright to cry, crying gets the sad out of you." "And the grand facade, so soon will burn. Without a noise. Without my pride. I reach out from the inside." "Take my hand, take my whole life, too. 'Cause I can't help, falling in love with you ..."

There is so much to love about you, Walter Paul.  I love your singing and your dancing. I love the way you are usually so gentle and sweet with your sister, and how you love to make her smile and laugh, and how you taught her how to sign "more" this weekend. She loves to learn from you! I love the way you talk to yourself when you're playing, imagining conversations between you and your King Friday puppet, or between Red and Mokey fraggle. I love watching you run and skip when you're happy. I love baking with you .... you are so good at measuring out the ingredients! Most of all, though, I just love you because you are you.  You are my Scooter, and my love for you goes way beyond the way you look, or the way you act, or the things you do.

And that's a really good thing, because sometimes the things you do, these days, put you and me at odds. I've struggled a lot with how much to write about this.  Most people don't have any real memories of their lives before age 4 or so, so I wonder how wise it is to record these "terrible twos" moments in detail.  It's not your behavior I'm hoping you'll forget, though; it's mine. I get pretty angry, sometimes. I don't think I'm angry in an unusual way ... I think it's pretty normal for parents to get angry and to show it more than they'd like to.  And someday, if you have kids of your own and I'm still living, I'd like to have some very real conversations with you about what it's like to be mad at your beloved little kids.  I want to tell this future-hypothetical-father version of you, "It's OK, Walter.  It'll be OK.  You're human, and you have feelings, and you're doing the best you can.  Keep trying to do better, and to let your kids know that you love them no matter what."

Here's how I know that you and I are OK and, further more, we are going to be OK:

... the way you lean against me, or easily take my hand, or give me a hug just because.
... the way you greet me at the end of the school/work day with a joyful "Mama!" and a hug.  The way we both look for each other and look forward to that moment.
... the way you study me, looking in my eyes, and then smile. Sometimes we make eye contact across a room and smile at each other, and I realize we communicate a lot without talking, you and me.

We communicate pretty well with talking, too, although sometimes words fail us. We're working on it--both of us are. About a month (or more?) ago you asked me to play Legos with you in your room and I said yes. You headed into your room and I followed, making a very quick stop in the kitchen to grab a can of selzer on my way. When you got to your Lego table and looked back, I wasn't right there. You let out a little scream of frustration. I was just coming through the door, saying, "I'm right here!" and you said, "Mama, sometimes I need you and you are not there."

And I said, "I just stopped to get a selzer!"

But I know what you meant, and I'm proud that you could put it into words like that. That's pretty remarkable communicating, Walter.  And it's true. There are times when you need me and I'm not there.  Sometimes it's because I mostly take care of your sister and your Daddy mostly takes care of you ... that's just how it works for us, especially because I'm still Sally's main source of food. We're trying to change that up as much as we can, your Daddy and I, but we've got into the habit of dividing things up that way, so it can be hard (and hard on you and Sally, too, because you've gotten used to it) to make those changes. Sometimes I'm not there because I'm at work.  Sometimes I'm not there because I'm too slow to react or to realize that you need me and what you need me to do. I'm still learning how to be a mom, and because you are my oldest, you are my main teacher.

I wish I could always be right there, the moment you need me, and do exactly what you need me to do. Every parent falls short of that, though.  I don't know that most kids realize that about their parents at two-and-a-half, but you have always been very advanced.

You and I are going to go through times of trouble in our relationship.  I am almost positive that this current troublesome time will not be the last. I promise you that I will always do my best to be there when you need me, to be gentle with you, to help you if I can. When I fall short and let you down in these ways, I hope you will still know and trust that I love you with all my heart.  And God, who is always there in your times of need, who will never let you down, will help us get through these rough patches, forgive each other, and forgive ourselves.

I love you, Walter.  I am so proud, and glad, and grateful to be,

Your Mama

Nesting

I am nesting.

I didn't really "nest" with Walter ... I was too tired, sick and broken by the time we got to this point.  There was no sudden burst of energy directed at household tasks, just some plaintive nagging from my perma-perch on my bed directed at my beleaguered family members.

I've gotten the whole family in on it this time, too, but I'm able to do more and find I have quite a lot of focus and stamina to direct at various tasks.  The to-do list I made for getting ready for Sally has been significantly diminished, to the point where I'd feel comfortable now, if I go into labor, that anything we didn't get done could get done and everything that really needed to be done is done. Done done done *satisfied hand-washing gesture.*

I've been super productive and efficient at work, too, and am also feeling very good about the congregation being prepared for my maternity leave.  I like this energy and focus.  I like making visible progress and checking things off of lists.

I don't like the insomnia. I find I'm either too wired to sleep at all or, if I'm tired enough from a few nights of that to actually sleep, I wrestle with anxiety nightmares all night long and wake up exhausted.  Last night, I kid you not, I dreamed I was in a van full of young women evangelicals caught in the crossfire between the police and some kind of organized crime syndicate.  My favorite quote from the dream (that I can remember) was when I told our driver and the leader of the group, "Well, if we don't get in the van right now, we're definitely going to die." "Good point," said the leader. "Yes," I said.  "I'm very good in a crisis. I should really be in charge."  Then I felt bad for undermining the leader's authority.

There were some tense moments, but when I woke up everyone in the van was still alive. What a relief *uncharacteristic moment of sarcasm.*

Worse than the insomnia is the impact the nesting is having on my time with Walter. I'm well enough to sort and fold clothes.  I'm not well enough to keep up with a 21-month-old.  So, Umma, Baba and Sean have been rotating Walter duty and nesting duty (that is, they do the majority of the difficult work while I sit and sort things.)  Walter has noticed the lack of Mama time.  Today when he got home from school he was extra affectionate, with his arms wrapped around my neck for hugs and stroking my face very gently (before switching to poking my face as he counted my freckles ... then I showed him the millions of freckles on my arm and he sighed, overwhelmed ... then he started to pester to let him watch YouTube videos.)  He was very upset when I left to go to a council meeting and very glad to see me when I got home, just in time for a goodnight hug and kiss.

Part of me reasons that it's good for Walter to get used to Mama being less available.  Part of me wants to be as available as I can possibly be these next two weeks.  I want to pick him up and hold him as much as I possibly can, knowing it'll be a month at least before I'm allowed to lift him.  I want him to feel the warmth and love of my full, undivided attention.  And I want him to be OK when that attention is divided, too.  Oh, Walter.  After I left his room tonight, he kept calling out, "Love you, Mama!"  After calling back with "Love you, Walter!" a couple of times, I knew I had to stop so that he'd go to bed.  I hope he knows that "love you" never stops, no matter what.

So, my plan is to get done as much as I can during the couple of hours I'm home when he's at day care and at night after he's gone to bed, leaving the weekend as open as possible.  I'm still working (I'll work right up until 2 days before the c-section, Sally permitting) so I don't have much time during the day, and today I spent that time napping (blissfully dream-free.) We'll see how it goes.

Every once and awhile in the middle of my nesting frenzy, Sally will start moving very assertively and demanding my attention.  At first I'm a little annoyed, like, "Hey! Settle down! I'm sorting and folding your clothes, here." Then, I'm delighted, and then, I stop what I'm doing and take some time to notice her, this baby I'm nesting for.  She continues to love my left hip best of all, which makes me wonder if we'll be "joined at the hip" after she's born, too. She sticks her little feet up under my ribs and does a stretch/handstand, just like Walter used to do.  She doesn't get the hiccups very often or for very long.  She's running out of room, and sometimes her movements seem a little ... indignant.  Like, "Hey, Mom.  Did you really need that second ear of sweet corn? You're smushing me, here."

It's a good nest we're making for you, Sally.  It's a little crowded, but you're used to that, and there's a dog. He's going to lick your feet. Your brother is going to love you and count your toes a million times.  He may also poke at you a little bit, but he's pretty gentle on the whole. Your Baba and Dada have sore backs from moving bins and other heavy things around to get ready for your arrival, but when you arrive they will take Advil and brave the pain so they can bounce and rock and walk with you.  Your Umma is going to sing to you and make you laugh and smile.

Your clothes are clean and lovingly folded, for now.  It's a good nest, Sally.  It's a nest of always "love you's," no matter what.

Sally's Lullaby

Sally's lullaby came to me a little earlier in the game than Walter's did--I wrote his at 32 weeks, and I wrote Sally's this week, week 29.  The pressure to produce a lullaby was a little greater this time. I'm worried in general about precedents we set with Walter and not being able to meet or exceed them with Sally; I want to take lots of pictures of her, write her a lullaby of her own (even though her brother's would have worked, with slight alterations),give her as much attention on this blog as I give to Walter and make sure that in the midst of all the hand-me-downs she gets a sense of her own special place in our hearts and our family.  It'll be interesting to reflect more on this worry after Sally arrives, because I honestly have no idea how hard it'll be to give her that special attention.  All I know is that I want Sally to feel as secure in her family's love as Walter clearly does.

I'm sure my worries are rooted in a scarcity mindset (there is a particular quantity of love available, and when it divided among more family members, everyone gets less.)  That's pretty wrong thinking right there, especially when the Christian model stands in such total contrast: Christ came so that we may have life, and have it abundantly.  Even as a pastor, I have to stop myself and conscientiously remember that God is about abundance, and so is God's creation, and so, especially, is God's love (and the love we have for each other, which comes from God.)

Sally, you are so loved.  You are loved abundantly.  You will never want for love: from your parents, from your family, from God's big family, and from God.

That's the basic message I wanted to get across in Sally's lullaby, along with other good lullaby messages such as: "go to sleep."  I've had some lyrics in mind for several weeks, but the tune didn't come to me until Monday morning as I was about to get into the shower.  Once I got the tune, the words came immediately.

And not a moment too soon, because the late night pummeling is really starting to pick up!  I hummed the lullaby to Sally late last night and her activity went from frantic elbowing to pleasant, rhythmic bopping.  I know better than to expect magical results from this lullaby--Walter's lullaby "works" as well as any quiet song we sing to him before bed, and currently ranks as his third favorite after Woody Guthrie's "Take you riding my car" and "Dona Nobis Pacem." But when he asks for "Walter, Walter" it always feels special to me, especially now that he sings along.  it may take some time before I can sing it to her without crying, but I'm glad Sally and I will have this song to share, these words of love that are just for her. 

Hey, Sally bug

Hey Sally bug

Let’s get a kiss, let's get a hug.

Hey Sally bug

Hey Sally bug

Lie down, close your eyes, and get real snug

Hey, Sally dear

Hey, Sally dear

We are so very glad you’re here

Hey, Sally dear

Hey, Sally dear

You’re loved, you’re blessed,

That much is clear

Hey, Sally girl

Hey, Sally girl

Your family is the whole wide world

Hey, Sally girl

Hey, Sally girl

And God will help your life unfurl*

Sleep well, Sally boo

Sleep well, Sally boo

Tomorrow is a new day for you

Sleep well, Sally boo,

Sleep well, Sally boo

One more kiss, goodnight, we’ll see you soon

....

After writing this blog post, I used my phone to record myself singing the lullaby.  If Sean can figure out how to make that type of file work with blogger, he'll put a link here. I put my phone near my belly while I played it back and Sally woke up to give an appreciative little tap tap tap.  Sort of the opposite effect intended by a lullaby, but it made me happy.

*Still not sure about "unfurl."  I like the image, but it's such an odd word for a lullaby. Gives it that "homemade" feeling, though.

Letter to one-year-old Walter

This was your first snow: November 9, 2011

Dear Walter,

Today I held you up to the window to watch the snow falling and you smiled, laughed, and pointed.  Even though it was only snowing very lightly, you could easily see it, and you knew it was something wonderful.  You are something wonderful, too.

You've been one year old for two weeks, now. You celebrated both your birthday and your Great Aunts Jan and Kim's wedding in Courtland, NY with your Swiftie relatives, including your second cousin and birthday buddy, Monica.  You had a quiet celebration at home on the 22nd with me and Daddy and a red velvet cupcake.  And we had a big party for you in the gym at church this past weekend.  We are a family that believes in extended birthday celebrations!

You watched the snow on Feb 10, 2012, too

In the midst of all this celebrating we have all been pretty sick.  That started the weekend before your birthday with a case of pink eye, followed by a stomach virus, followed by a cold, followed by an ear infection.  Me, Daddy, Umma and Baba all got versions of this, too.  Even with all this sickness, you have been having an amazing series of adventures.  To give you just one example: on our way to a meeting in Door County, we stopped to get some lunch for Daddy and you threw up in the van. We did the best we could with clean up and took you into the restaurant while we tried to decide what to do.  I set you down and you took off, running straight toward the big kids' play area, doing a happy little dance as you shimmied along. We decided to continue on to Door County, where you rampaged around the Maritime Museum like a baby pirate. You are so resilient. You keep learning, growing, and having wonderful time, even when you are sick.  You had your first airplane trips while you were sick and did beautifully, sleeping through most of both flights.  You are unstoppable!

Watching the snow today, Nov. 06, 2012

You are a very good communicator: you say "Hi!" and "Bye!", "Uh oh!" and "Row! Row!" You are working on your animal noises.  You are very good at sign language: you use your own versions of ASL signs for "all done," "more," "food," and "water/drink."  You used to use the sign for "milk" for when you want to nurse, but lately you have been snapping your fingers, instead!  You watched your Daddy snap his fingers to some music one day and immediately you started to snap, too.  That is amazing, Walter. And it's pretty funny when you snap your fingers at me when you're hungry.  You also invented your own sign for when you want to brush your teeth, brushing the tips of your fingers over your lips.  You use that sign very consistently and I'm very proud of you for coming up with it and teaching it to Daddy and me.  I'm also very proud of how much you love to brush your teeth.  I think I saw two new ones on their way in tonight--your official count these days is 9, including a one year molar that came in while we were traveling in New York. At your one year check up your stats were: head circumference: 19 in; height: 31 1/4 inches; weight: 25 lbs 10 oz. 95th percentile all around!

You love: hot dogs, Hank the Dog, Henry (your best friend from day care,) anything that plays music, music of all kinds, dancing (to the beat!) every time you hear music, and your favorite songs: "Row, Row, Row Your Boat," "The Itsy Bitsy Spider," "Patty Cake," and "African Skies" (ta-oomba-oomba-oomba-whoa-oh-oh.)  You love day care and your wonderful teachers who sing and dance with you. You love video chatting with your Grandma and Grandpa Albright and visits with your Umma and Baba.  You continue to love Baba Paul best of all the people in the world.  You love me and Daddy very much, too, and you give us wonderful hugs, kisses and snuggles.  Every once and awhile you will reach up and hold my hand, or Daddy's hand, while we walk together.  We love it when you do that.

Not sure about cake.

You are not a fan of fruit of any kind. You don't really seem to like cake or frosting, either, although today you delighted us by twisting apart an Oreo cookie and eating it just like your Daddy does.  You still cry a lot at bedtime, frustrated with all of the things that need to be done before we get to nursing and going to bed.  You love baby Advil (white grape flavor ... and you seem to know that it helps with ear and teething pain) but don't like other medicines very much, although you're getting used to nose drops for congestion.  You don't like being slowed down by being sick ... or by baby safety gates ... or by anything or anyone that might slow you down!

I've been writing this letter while watching election night coverage--they just announced that President Obama was reelected.  You are fast asleep, but earlier this evening you enjoyed dancing to the trumpet-heavy election theme music on the radio.  You won't remember this election, but I will remember how you liked to steal our "I voted" stickers.  I'd like to think that shows an early interest in citizenship and democracy.

Walter, I can't begin to tell you what this year has meant and means to me.  I'm not sure I know how to explain it to myself yet, either.  Here's what I know: I love you with my whole heart, my whole self.  I feel like I've known you and loved you much longer than this one year, longer even than the ten months before you were born. I think I have always loved you, my whole life long.  This love isn't based on how smart you are, how handsome, how strong, or how funny, although you are all of those things and more.  This love is yours just because you are. It's the human equivalent of the much greater love that God, your Mother in heaven, has for you. It's a love that is all yours, always, no matter what.  That is something you can know without a doubt: I love you, your Daddy loves you, you are loved by family and friends around the world, God loves you ... you are loved!

Walter, Walter, you are loved
By friends on earth and friends above
Love surrounds you every day
And when you sleep, in love you stay

Goodnight, sweet one-year-old. Here's to all the years of adventures ahead of you!

Love love love,
Mommy

You're on your way!