Willow's Birth Story

Willow,

As your third birthday approaches, I realized how often I have shared details of your birth with so many, but I have yet to write it out for you.  Your birth changed me, as has your presence in my life for these past three years, and I want you to know that the strength you taught me has proven me capable of anything, capable of being the perfect mother for you.

Daddy and I knew before Guin was ever born that we wanted to have two kids.  Our siblings were so important to us growing up, and we wanted both of you to have each other.  Since it took many months of trying to get pregnant with Guin, we decided if we wanted you guys to be two-ish years apart, we'd better start trying when Guin was about 15 months old.  To our surprise, it didn't take nine months of trying with you.  It took one.  You've been a no nonsense do things your way type of person since conception.  We discovered that my due date was the same day as my due date when I was pregnant with your sister.  You guys would be exactly two years apart.

I loved being pregnant with you.  I started feeling you move really early in my pregnancy, and I felt very connected to you from the beginning.  I taught between 10 and 15 yoga classes a week while you were growing, and it helped me so much to connect with you and get to know my changing body.  I was amazed at all of the things I was still capable of doing in yoga, even though I got to the size of Jupiter... and that's what prompted me to start teaching yoga to other pregnant women.  Showing them that pregnancy isn't about what I couldn't do, but about shifting my intention and strengthening what I could.  I was so lucky to have such inspiring teachers while you were growing, and Belly Bliss found me.  That yoga studio became my home and opened my eyes to the joy of growing you.

As the idea of your birth became more real, something about going back to the same hospital where Guin was born just didn't sit right with me.  The more I learned about what was possible in childbirth, the more I realized that I wanted something different this time around. I started looking at other options, and I found a midwife practice at Rose Hospital that our insurance would pay for, so your daddy and I bravely set out on our own, searching for a better birth for you.  To tell you the truth, I was horribly disappointed with the midwives that I saw there.  Something still didn't feel right.  Then I learned about what a doula was.

My friend Lauren, who I met through Belly Bliss had introduced the idea of a doula to me - someone objective who would come to my birth and help coach me through, give your daddy some ideas of what to do to help me, and make sure nobody pressured me into anything that I didn't want.  She was exactly what I needed to move into your birth confidently.  I needed that safety net, someone who completely trusted that I could give birth to you without drugs.  I also met our friend Amy, who was just beginning her doula training, and decided to have both of them there to help us through our journey.

As the final weeks of our pregnancy approached, I really had to turn inward.  I nested and cleaned like crazy.  I even vacuumed the dog hair off of all of the stuffed animals in the house.  But I knew this would be the last time I grew a baby, and I remember getting out of the shower one morning and sitting down on the floor.  I rubbed my belly and sobbed.  I had to mourn the loss of this part of my life, the idea that soon I would not be pregnant any more, and that I had to be ready to be a mommy to both you and your sister.  I told you I was ready.  Scared, but ready.

The evening of December 23rd I had become convinced that you were never going to come out.  You technically still had two weeks until your "due date", but I didn't expect to carry you longer than I carried Guin.  I had been walking around dilated to 4 cm and 80% effaced for the last two weeks, but things were moving on your time, not mine.  I told Luke and Liz that we would be attending Christmas Eve dinner the next day and that I'd be happy to help with anything if they needed.  After we put Guin to bed that night, I rolled out my yoga mat and just moved.  It probably didn't look much like yoga, but it felt good to just be on my hands and knees moving and breathing.

Then I got hit with a burst.  More of inspiration than energy, but I had to create.  Your poor daddy was so tolerant of me, he didn't even hesitate when I asked him to take the laundry room door off of the hinges.  I laid it out on the bedroom floor and began to paint the seven chakras down the length of the door.  I lost all sense of time, I have no idea what time it was when I finished and decided to go to sleep.  What I know now is that I was getting my mind in the right place for labor - the part of a woman's brain that is used to create is the same part that she births from.  That door is still in your bedroom today.

The unmistakable waves of labor woke me up at 4:30 on the morning of December 24th.  There was no question that today was the day.  I was filled with joy and excitement - the fear of labor was nonexistent.  I slowly crawled out of bed and told daddy that I was getting in the shower.  I told him to rest up, we're having a baby today.  Of course he didn't go back to sleep.  The waves came regularly, they started 5 minutes apart.  About 6:30 I called Lauren and Amy to tell them I was in labor, and I called Grandma and Grandpa to come over and stay with Guin.

I laid on the couch for most of the morning, just resting.  When waves would hit I would move into child's pose on the couch.  It felt so natural to just lean forward and relax.  I spent some time in the bath, and took a few walks around the neighborhood on that crisp Christmas Eve morning.  The rhythm of waves kept coming, but they weren't really increasing at all, so Lauren suggested what daddy and I called "the pirate walk."  We walked around the neighborhood sidewalks with one foot on the sidewalk and one foot in the gutter, creating a rocking motion to help encourage you to move down.  We did this for hours, stopping when the waves got intense, and smiling at the neighbors who surely thought we were crazy.  We talked and laughed, laboring together was so fun and intimate.

Around 2:00 Grandma and Grandpa said they were going to take Guin back to their house and leave us to labor.  As soon as they left I felt free to be as loud as I wanted to, and within three contractions I knew it was time to go.  We got into the car and headed down to the hospital.  The only time during the whole experience that I would describe labor as painful was when I was buckled into the front seat of the car, unable to move or lean forward.  Luckily daddy drives fast under pressure and I only had two contractions.  I remember calling the midwives to tell them we were on our way, and nobody called back.  I called the hospital to let them know we were coming, and they told me to call the midwives.  I told them to f*ck off.

Daddy had to drop me off at the front door while he went to park the car.  It seemed like ages, but we finally walked up to the labor and delivery floor together.  The security guard offered me a wheelchair, and looked at me like a crazy person when I (not so politely) declined.  I was more than a little frazzled getting into the hospital, and luckily they never took me to triage or all of the politeness I had within me would have been gone.  All of that frustration melted away though when we walked into the room, the lights were already dim, and Lauren was sitting there waiting for us.  I will never forget the kindness of her face and the grounding I felt just by having her there.

The nurse didn't object when I refused to change into the hospital gown.  She had me lay down on the bed so she could monitor us.  She checked my cervix, I was 8-9cm dilated.   She got a reading on your heart rate, and I remember after the second contraction in bed I said "f*ck this" and took the monitors off so I could get up and move.  (Mommy isn't shy about her language, especially when she's working hard.)  Amy arrived, and she and Lauren suggested getting into the bathtub.  I got in and it seemed like heaven.  Being weightless was exactly what I needed, and I was able to relax there.  The contractions were intense, but they never felt unmanageable or painful.  I noticed my legs were pedaling back and forth, like I was riding a bicycle.  Pedaling up over the final hill.  Then I had to push.

The nurse told me that I had to get out of the water when I felt like pushing so everyone was very quick to get me up out of the tub.  (Oh how I wished I could have just stayed in there!)  I steadily walked the ten feet back over to the hospital bed as my doulas dried me off and your daddy held my hand.  I immediately climbed up on the bed on my hands and knees - that position had been most comfortable since the night before, and it was where you were telling me to be.  I couldn't help but push with the first contraction on the bed.  I roared into the pillow like a lioness, I didn't care who heard me or how much of a fool I sounded like.

I remember Lauren paging the nurse and saying "she's pushing, we need someone here NOW."  I was so turned inward that I didn't notice the frenzy around me.  The midwife that was supposed to deliver you was at another birth, and they had grabbed a resident out of the hallway.  Second contraction, you were on your way down and there was no stopping you.  I talked to you out loud, I told you "come on baby, we can do this.  we are strong."  I remember Lauren saying "she's comfortable here" and the resident saying "ok, I can work with this."  Most doctors would have asked me to turn over on my back, but at that moment it would have taken an army to move me from my spot.  It was 4:20 pm, about an hour from the time we arrived at the hospital.  Last push - and I felt every part of you come into the world.  Daddy said it was interesting seeing your face come out first (since most of the time moms are on their backs and the baby is born face down).

We didn't find out if you were going to be a boy or girl, so I was thrilled when Daddy whispered to me "it's Willow."  I had hoped for a sister for Guin.  It was a little like an awkward acrobatic act to get turned over, but the doctor handed you to me and I fell in love.  Daddy was looking over my shoulder at you.  I was overwhelmed with so much love that I wept.  You screamed enough to clear your lungs, but you didn't cry.  You just looked at me.  We did it.  All on our own, you and me, we were a team and we were strong.  I felt everything, the way nature had meant it to be, and  I was so proud of myself.  I still am.  The strength you taught me that day made me feel invincible.  I was healed.

There was no repair or stitching that had to happen after you were born.  You nursed beautifully and my time with you was perfect.  I handed you to your smiling daddy and walked myself to the bathroom to get cleaned up.  I felt like I could have run a marathon.  Your birth was ecstatic for me.

Oma and Opa came to see you, and Grandma and Grandpa brought Guin.  Guin was so excited to meet you, and even though she was tired and overstimulated from the day, I will never forget the way she looked at you the first moment you met.  She was so proud of her baby sister.  She seemed to understand better than I could have ever expected a two year old person to - but we had our family, and life was good.

Because it was Christmas Eve, half of the staff of the hospital was gone and the cafeteria was closed.  I was starving, so Oma and Opa left to find us some food.  They brought back the most delicious gyros I had ever tasted.  We spent that night and all of Christmas day falling in love with you, and late Christmas evening we were able to bring you home.

I'm amazed knowing you now how your birth really reflected your personality.  You don't mess around, you get things done, and you are amazingly wise.  Thank you for showing me how strong I could be.  It was your pregnancy that inspired me to teach prenatal yoga, your birth that inspired me to be a doula, and you who inspired me to help other women find that same strength to birth their babies.  I may have birthed you, but you continue to teach me.  Thank you.

Love,
Mom

Two pushes before you were born

Meeting you - we did it.

Daddy loves you

Meeting sister

My doulas, Amy & Lauren

Guin's Birth Story

Guin, 

I have to start by apologizing that I've waited until your fifth birthday to actually write your birth story.  I regret not doing it right away, there are details I've forgotten in such a short time.  I was so uneducated going into your birth, and looking back now there are so many things I would do differently for your well being.  But the important thing is that giving birth to you was one of the most profound moments I will ever experience.  It changed me to my core.  The times in your birth story are vague, and to be honest I have to look in your baby book to remember exactly what you weighed or how long you were - but I will always be able to give you every detail of how I felt that day.  You changed the course and purpose of my life, and for that I will never be able to thank you enough.

Daddy and I knew we wanted a family a long time before you came.  We tried for nine months to get pregnant, and when I had finally given up on it ever happening we found out about you.  In the first ultrasound picture you looked like nothing more than a booger (a name that stuck... we called you booger until long after you were born.)  I worked at a bank when I was pregnant with you, and I was really stressed and unhealthy.  I stopped doing yoga and ate Chick-fil-a as often as I could.  So it wasn't a huge surprise when my doctor put me on bed rest at 32 weeks gestation because of high blood pressure and preeclampsia.  That last month and a half of my pregnancy was a really hard adjustment for me, but it was such a blessing.  I was such a go go go constantly moving stressed kind of person, and being forced to completely stop and lay on the couch with you for six weeks gave me so much perspective.  It gave me time to think about the changes that were coming and how I hadn't yet made you my priority.  It was then that I decided I wasn't going back to work after you were born.  Being your mama was my new job.  

Because of my high blood pressure, my doctor wanted to try to encourage you to come before Christmas even though you weren't technically "due" until the first week in January.  She scraped my membranes twice - (which means manually separating the amniotic sack that you were floating in from the inside of the uterus where you were growing...it was horribly uncomfortable at best).   The winter you were born there was more snow than I had ever seen in one season in Colorado - we were scared you were going to decide to come while we were snowed in.  

Christmas came and went... then the day after... late on the crisp but snow-free night of December 26th Daddy and I were laying in bed watching movies.  We watched Anastasia, trying to fall asleep... but I was wide awake.  When that was over we watched An American Tale.  Still wide awake.  Then it happened - about 1:30 am on December 27th, I felt my body begin the work of birthing.  Our contractions started about 5 minutes apart and became regular very quickly.  Like most first time parents, we got crazy excited and called the doctor.  She told us to come in right then (I know now we should have stayed home to rest...) so we rushed to Avista Adventist Hospital in Louisville in the wee hours of the morning.  We got to the hospital at about 2:30am and we waited in triage for what felt like years.  Grandma and Grandpa came to see me.  Uncle Kyle took an incredibly unflattering picture of me.  And by 4am the nurses decided I was 5cm dilated and officially in labor.

We checked into our room and immediately started walking the halls of the hospital.  I had made it my entire pregnancy without taking off my wedding ring or the promise ring Daddy gave me in high school, but I had no idea how bad my hands would start to swell when I was in labor - we spend about an hour walking the halls with my hand in a bag of ice, trying to get my rings off of my hands.  It was honestly a nice distraction from the contractions.  Daddy and I laughed and joked and really enjoyed ourselves in between the waves.  We walked the halls until we could start to see the sun peeking through the windows, and the nurses told me the doctor wanted to speed up my labor by breaking my water and she would be in at 9 am to do it.  (I have no idea why they needed to speed up my labor - things were going really well, and I was progressing.  I know now that there was no reason for it, you and I knew just what we were doing.)  Luckilly that never had to happen, because around 8am my water broke on its own, so we walked back to the room to get cleaned up.  

That was when it felt like chaos erupted.  The nurses had changed shifts at 7, and I hadn't met my new nurse yet.  She was a kind lady, but it turned out she knew my grandparents from church, and as soon as I got back to the room and my contractions started reaching the most intense point, she was going on and on about how great church and god bless this and that and who knows... if I had been as strong then as I am now, I would have kicked her out of the room right there.  She told me I needed to get on the bed so she could monitor us, and that's when I lost control.  The contraction I had while I was flat on my back in bed took my breath away.  I wanted to move but I couldn't.  You were telling me to move, my body was telling me to get up and get out of bed, but I couldn't.  I did what the nurse told me to do.  I remember looking up at your Daddy and seeing the helpless look on his face.  He asked me what I needed, but I couldn't respond.  My doctor had arrived and told me that the anesthesiologist on call would be leaving soon, so if I wanted an epidural now was my chance.  Even though my intuition screamed at me not to do it, that seemed like the only option I had, so I agreed.

The best way I can describe getting the epidural is that it was strange.  To have sensation in your spine is the weirdest thing I've ever experienced.  It was like a cold trickle down the base of my spine.  It didn't take long before the sensations of the contractions turned off completely.  I laid restlessly in the bed, watching my belly harden with each contraction, watching the line on the monitor go up, but no longer experiencing the labor.  I felt bad that I was able to turn off the sensation, but that I knew you were still working just as hard.  They had me hooked up to every machine in the hospital.  They even put a monitor in your scalp to monitor your heart rate more accurately.  I was attached to so many wires that I was afraid to move.  In the time it took to get me settled, Daddy turned on some Beatles music and fell asleep for a short time.  The nurse checked me as soon as we got everything set up, and whaddaya know?  I was 10cm.  They didn't check me before the epidural, and the intense contractions I was having was because we were in transition.  

I remember the nurse having an "oops" look on her face when she told me I was fully dilated.  Because the epidural was turned up so high, I couldn't feel when to push.  So we waited for about an hour, letting my body figure out what it was doing without sensation and bring you down without pushing.  Finally, when I could start feeling the contractions a tiny bit, I felt the urge to push.  It was about 11am.  I stayed on my back, with my feet in the air.  Daddy held my right foot, crazy jesus nurse held my left.  She chanted numbers at me like a cheerleader, while Daddy just gave me whatever words of encouragement he could come up with.  The temperature in the room sky rocketed and so did my fever - they couldn't get the room to cool off for some reason, so while I was pushing they opened the windows of the room.  Right outside was a construction crew, working on a new building.  I'm glad I didn't care about modesty much at that point.

My doctor arrived in time to set up her tools.  As Daddy told me he could see the top of your head coming through, the doctor told me she was going to do a "mild" episiotomy (which means she cut the skin at the bottom of my yoni to make it easier for you to come through.  Again, knowing what I know now, it was unnecessary and made my recovery a lot longer.)  I remember just waiting... not feeling like I was doing much... I remember hearing the end of "She's so heavy" on the Beatles Abbey Road album. I looked at the clock.  It was about noon. I closed my eyes, I was tuning out the counting of the nurse and anything the doctor was telling me...  I was talking to you, telling you I love you.. and then as soon as the gentile guitar started playing "Here Comes the Sun" I opened my eyes.  I looked down just in time to see the doctor put you up on my belly, and to hear your Daddy tell me "it's a girl!"  

Every year when I tell you your birth story, this is the part I take the most time to share.  That moment, time literally stopped.  You cried enough to clear your lungs, but after that you just quietly looked at me.  I felt like there was nobody else in the room.  I looked right into your eyes... The look of those beautiful little eyes is still the most vivid memory I have from my entire life.  Those eyes were wise, even in your first few moments of life.  Those eyes are what told my heart that I was a mother.  They are the same little eyes that still look up at me today.  I fell so much in love in that moment.  I was in awe of what we had accomplished together that day.  You latched on beautifully and started to nurse soon after you were born.  I didn't even notice the doctor stitching me up or anything else that happened.  I had you in my arms and you were beautiful.  

Your grandparents were waiting for you in the waiting room at the hospital.  When I was all cleaned up, Grandma and Grandpa and Oma and Opa came in to meet you.  You were born on your Opa's 45th birthday, and I will always remember how proud he looked when he saw you.  You were such a bright little light in the eyes of everyone.  

We stayed in the hospital overnight and we were discharged early so we could be home before the next snow storm rolled in.  The first few days having you at home were beautiful.  We spent a lot of time in bed snuggled with you and just soaking in our family.  I felt horrible when people would come to see you in that first week, because I knew they wanted to meet you but I felt like a bear protecting her cub.  It drove me to tears just to let other people hold you.  I had never felt so connected to another human being in my life.  

You now know more about birth than most kids your age, and I want you to know that the experience of bringing you into the world is the inspiration for the work I do now.  You have touched so many lives just by existing.  Thank you for making me a mom.  I love you.

Mom

Memories of my Sister

Guin and Willow,

Today would have been your aunt Mindy's 23rd birthday.  There are so many times that I've wished you could have met her.  One of these days I promise to write her story about why she isn't here, but today I want to celebrate her and tell you all about the amazing person she was.

Mindy was my little sister.  I was five years old when she was born.  My first impression of her was that she looked like E.T.  She was born premature and soon after her birth it was discovered that she had a serious heart problem.  She spent a long time at Children's Hospital and I remember "helping" my parents listen to her heart regularly and giving her medicine.  By the time she was a toddler, her heart problem was gone.  She was miraculous even as a baby.

Mindy was spirited.  She had a contagious laugh.  We played and imagined together.  She was silly.  She ate peanut butter on a spoon every day for breakfast.  We would stay up past bedtime talking about who knows what and dancing to the Little Mermaid music.  We would fight like dogs.  She was talented.  She sang in the talent show in kindergarten and in middle school the girl could beat box better than most of the adults I'd ever heard. She loved creating.  She picked things up so quickly - she learned to crochet and the first thing she made was the giant blue afghan that we snuggle up with on the couch.

Mindy was always happy to see me.  Always.  She gave the most genuine hugs.  She would sit on the floor outside of my bathroom while I got ready for school and watch me curl my hair and we would talk.  She would steal my clothes.  She was my biggest fan.  I went to homecoming with a black eye because I tried to take clothes back from her and she put me in my place.  She was strong.  

Mindy never let anyone tell her what she could and couldn't do.  She was fierce.  She loved and was loved.  And even when things got hard, she and I had a connection that only sisters could have.  I was the last person in our family to talk to her before she died.  I am a better person because I knew her.

Willow - I see so much of Mindy in you.  It terrifies me knowing you have that same fierce passion, and I will do my best as you grow not to project that on you.  But I think Mindy has given me perspective that nobody else could have.  She taught me how to understand you, and she gave me lessons that will make me a better mom for the incredible person you are becoming.

Guin - I hope hearing the memories of my little sister will help you to appreciate your sister even more.  You have a best friend in her.  I have always told you that being a big sister is a VERY important job.  It's not a job I ever took lightly, and you are such a natural.  I'm pretty sure if Mindy had ever known you, she would have seen me in you.  And she would have been proud.

The connection I had with my sister has helped make me the person I am now.  I celebrate her memory, and even though neither of you ever knew her, and though you may not know it, she has touched your lives.

This is my favorite photo of the two of us.  It reminds me of the two of you.

And this is how I remember her.  Silly, brilliant, beautiful.

If there is one thing in the world I can teach you both, it's how important connection is.  The people in your life will help shape who you are.  I hope this gives you some insight as to why I am who I am - because I had a little sister, and even though her fifteen years were short, I love her.

Love,
Mom

Someday I will die.

Guin,

Today in the car we were talking.  We do a lot of that. You always come up with amazing questions, far beyond your years, and I have found myself stumped so many times as to how I'm supposed to explain the ways of this great big world to someone who is four.  Our conversation started like this:

G: "mom, how does someone get a step-mom?"
Me: "well, sometimes people decide to get un-married..."
G: "Oh! I wanted to ask you, if people spin and dance when they get married, when they get unmarried do they spin in the opposite direction?"
Me: "......something like that."

Then our conversation shifted.
G: "I hope you and Daddy never get unmarried."
Me: "me either, I hope we stay together for always."
G: "Until you die?"
Me: "Yep, until we die."
G: "Until I die?"
Me: "Well, I hope that you live longer than I do.  I'll be old before you will be."

You were silent for a long time.  And then you cried.  I immediately regretted saying those words.  We have talked a lot about death in the past, but today I knew you now had the realization that someday, I will die.  Chances are it might happen before you do.  I hope beyond hope that it does.

When we got home I pulled up in the driveway and turned the car off.  Willow was asleep in her car seat so I asked you to come sit in my lap up front.  You climbed up into my arms and you wept.  When I asked you to tell me your feelings you didn't talk, you just looked at me with your big tear filled eyes.  I couldn't help but cry too.  Every parent hopes that they out-live their children.  Very few children at the age of four realize that.  It's something I've thought about, and somehow you have the ability to wrap your tiny little mind around such an overwhelming idea.

I told you that right now, I'm not going anywhere.  I still have so much to teach you.  I told you that from the moment you started growing in my belly, I made the promise to teach you everything you need to know to be a strong adult who can face the world without me.  And I told you that someday, when I am older than all of your great grandmas, when my body just won't work anymore, and I have nothing more to teach you, that I will have to give my body back to the earth.  And I told you that you will miss me.  As I talked it was all I could do not to weep as you looked in my eyes, looking for some sort of comfort that I couldn't offer.

And then I told you that I can't die because you still have too much to teach me.  You always will.  You and your sister will always be my greatest teachers.  I asked if you knew you are my teacher.  You laughed at me and said "mom, I can't be your teacher, I'm a kid!"

Precisely.

As I write this, you are singing to yourself and stringing beads on a bracelet for your sister to wear, a little bit wiser to the reality of the world.  I knew from the moment you graced our lives with your presence that you are a wiser soul than I am.  It's these conversations that we have even at the age of four that give me confidence that someday when I am gone, that you will have the strength and wisdom to change the world without me.  And that both of us are better for spending our lives together.

Love,
Mom

The Loss of Sleepy Monkey

Oh Willow...
Today was a warm, early fall day.  We were driving around with the windows down, and you were happily playing with sleepy monkey in the back seat.  Sleepy monkey has been on a LOT of adventures with both you and Guin.  He's a little pink beanie baby monkey who has little pink eyelids that come about halfway down over his black beady eyes (which is why Guin dubbed him sleepy monkey.)  I don't recall where or who he came from, but for some reason he was one of the only toys that either of you were consistently attached to as small babies, and he's been through several wash cycles.  I commented last weekend that once you were done playing with him, he was going to have to go in my cedar chest to save for you guys.  Sleepy monkey earned a lot of love. 

Today as we pulled up to an intersection, I saw a dirty pink floppy thing fly past my rear view mirror.  I realized that you'd thrown sleepy monkey out the car window.  I don't know if you did it on purpose, maybe you were testing the boundaries, trying to see what would happen.  Maybe you were just swinging him around by his tail and he just slipped.  All I know is that I looked at that pink, floppy monkey sitting on the black asphalt and I froze.  I had time to get out of the car and rescue him before the light turned green.  But I didn't. 

Maybe I wanted to teach you a lesson... you can't just throw your toys out the car window and expect me to be able to get them for you.  You've been told a million times to be careful and keep your toys in the car.  But as the light turned green, I watched in the mirror as sleepy monkey got left behind, and the cars behind us respectfully swerved as to not run him over.  It wasn't until the car started moving that you realized Sleepy Monkey wasn't coming back.  And you wept.  There was a sadness like I've never heard in your little cry before.  You cried yourself to sleep as we drove home, and to be honest, I teared up too.  I think I've probably watched Toy Story twelve too many times, but I keep thinking about that sad little monkey face - loved as much as a toy can be loved one moment, and the next completely neglected in the middle of the road as we drove away because mom didn't get out and save him.  I feel horrible. 

If it had been any other toy, I would have shrugged it off and said "oh well, don't throw your toys out the window next time"... but here I sit, browsing Amazon and ebay, looking for someone who will sell me a pink monkey beanie baby.  Is it bad of me to replace the toy you threw out the car window?  Probably.  But it's Sleepy Monkey....  I have to.  I guess it's my way of saying sorry for making the decision to leave him behind. 

So for Sleepy Monkey's sake, DON'T throw your toys out the window anymore!!!

Love,
Mom

Pretty

Guin and Willow,

This will not be the last letter I write to you about how the world perceives beauty and how I know you will struggle with the ideal of being "pretty" as you grow up.  Every girl questions her beauty, at least every girl I know, and those who say they haven't are probably lying. 

I discovered this today and it spoke volumes of how I feel about it.  Especially the end. 

Katie Makkai "Pretty"

Pretty by Katie Makkai

When I was just a little girl, I asked my mother, “What will I be? Will I be pretty? Will I be pretty? Will I be pretty? What comes next? Oh right, will I be rich?” Which is almost pretty depending on where you shop. And the pretty question infects from conception, passing blood and breath into cells. The word hangs from our mothers' hearts in a shrill fluorescent floodlight of worry.

“Will I be wanted? Worthy? Pretty?” But puberty left me this funhouse mirror dryad: teeth set at science fiction angles, crooked nose, face donkey-long and pox-marked where the hormones went finger-painting. My poor mother.

“How could this happen? You'll have porcelain skin as soon as we can see a dermatologist. You sucked your thumb. That's why your teeth look like that! You were hit in the face with a Frisbee when you were 6. Otherwise your nose would have been just fine!

“Don't worry. We'll get it fixed!” She would say, grasping my face, twisting it this way and that, as if it were a cabbage she might buy.

But this is not about her. Not her fault. She, too, was raised to believe the greatest asset she could bestow upon her awkward little girl was a marketable facade. By 16, I was pickled with ointments, medications, peroxides. Teeth corralled into steel prongs. Laying in a hospital bed, face packed with gauze, cushioning the brand new nose the surgeon had carved.

Belly gorged on 2 pints of my blood I had swallowed under anesthesia, and every convulsive twist of my gut like my body screaming at me from the inside out, “What did you let them do to you!”

All the while this never-ending chorus droning on and on, like the IV needle dripping liquid beauty into my blood. “Will I be pretty? Will I be pretty? Like my mother, unwrapping the gift wrap to reveal the bouquet of daughter her $10,000 bought her? Pretty? Pretty.”

And now, I have not seen my own face for 10 years. I have not seen my own face in 10 years, but this is not about me.

This is about the self-mutilating circus we have painted ourselves clowns in. About women who will prowl 30 stores in 6 malls to find the right cocktail dress, but haven't a clue where to find fulfillment or how wear joy, wandering through life shackled to a shopping bag, beneath those 2 pretty syllables.

About men wallowing on bar stools, drearily practicing attraction and everyone who will drift home tonight, crest-fallen because not enough strangers found you suitably fuckable.

This, this is about my own some-day daughter. When you approach me, already stung-stayed with insecurity, begging, “Mom, will I be pretty? Will I be pretty?” I will wipe that question from your mouth like cheap lipstick and answer, “No! The word pretty is unworthy of everything you will be, and no child of mine will be contained in five letters.

“You will be pretty intelligent, pretty creative, pretty amazing. But you, will never be merely 'pretty'.”

Willow's first day of preschool

Little Willow,

For the past two years, you've been watching Guin go off to preschool and it's been all I can do to keep you from following her into the classroom.  You have been ready for play, discovery and learning for a long time now, and it was so exciting today to finally take you to your first day of preschool.

We stood outside the classroom waiting for your other classmates to get there.  You towered over the rest of the two and three year old kids as they arrived, I don't know if any of them realized you were in their class because you look older.  When Miss Nichole opened the door to let you in, you bee lined to the toys before I could make my way to the door.  The other kids were so hesitant to come in, they were shy and clinging to their parents.  You walked in with determined and excited eyes and you knew exactly what to do.  You played with dolls and trucks, in your dinosaur shirt and pigtails you weren't about to fall into any stereotype. 

You walked up to the table with nametags and to your teachers' surprise you selected the one that started with W - the one that had your name on it.  You are already sprinting where most kids your age are crawling.  But that's always been how you've done things.

So here's to your newest adventure, your first year of preschool.  I'm excited to watch you learn and grow!

Love, Mom

What it means to be a sister

Dear Guin and Willow,

I watch the two of you sharing each day together, and it is becoming increasingly obvious to me how important you are to each other.  You fight.  A lot.  But you are each other's best companion.  And I hope someday you realize how important of a job being a sister is. 

It's a lesson I was fortunate enough to learn for myself.  Someday when you have a bigger understanding of the world I will tell you the story of your aunt Mindy, and why she isn't here anymore.  There are still times where I can't be present with you because of that story, but I will leave that for another day.

Guin, you should know that you have been Willow's best example from the day she was born.  She started walking at a tiny seven months old because she saw you doing it and wanted to keep up with you.  She will continue to learn from you and eventually it will make you crazy.  She will borrow your clothes, not to make you mad, but to be a little more like you.  Someday she will take you off of the pedistal she holds you on, but for now, even when you are mean to her, you do no wrong.  She looks up to you, and hers is a love you will never get from anyone else in your life.

Willow, from the time you joined our family you have been your own little person.  You broke every expectation that we had of what it meant to raise a baby, and you challenged your sister in ways that we never could have.  You've already taught Guin what it means to share.  Not just toys, but attention, affection, giggles, and tears.  You give her a reason to think about people other than herself, and that is a lesson that both of you will carry through the rest of your lives.  You may feel like you are the one learning from your older sister, but little woman, you are the teacher. 

The two of you are so lucky to have each other.  Your sister will be the one person in your life who has known you at your core - she will be there through all of the successes and failures of my parenting.  She will be there to teach you lessons that your friends and classmates and boyfriends or girlfriends can't teach you.  She will lie to me to keep you out of trouble... or to get you into trouble... She will challenge you and enlighten you and maybe punch you in the face.  But there is nobody in the world that could replace that other tiny woman in your life.  You already have so much love for each other - from the moment you wake up in the morning, the one of you who gets up first can't last more than five minutes without waking the other.  The sunshine of the new day must be shared.

So as you grow, I will always remind you what a huge job you each have.  Being a sister is important.  It's a huge task that you've been unknowingly assigned, and a huge gift that you don't yet have the life experience to truly appreciate.  Remember as you grow that you are responsible to each other, but not for each other.  That you will grow seperately, but never apart.  That you are rooted in love.  Appreciate each other.  You will never be alone.

Love,
Mom

Little words

Dear Willow,

I'm having a bad day today.  I had bad dreams about people in our life being mean to me, so I woke up in a bad mood.  I've been swamped with too many things lately and I'm feeling like I can't stay on top of any of the grown up things I need to do.  Today I was making lunch for you and Guin, you two were fighting and screaming at each other... then you stopped in the kitchen and told me "you're a bad mom."

I know you're two years old.  I know what you meant when you said it did not hold the meaning it did for me.  But it was the final push for me today, and I cried.  You asked me why I was laughing, and when I explained to you that I was crying because you hurt my feelings the look in your eyes was one I've rarely seen.  You weren't in trouble, it wasn't the look you get when you get put in time out, it was an honest look of being sorry.  I think you realized then that I am just as fragile as you sometimes.  That you are capable of hurting my feelings and that I'm not unbreakable. 

As I sat on the floor and cried, you came and pinched my face in your tiny little hands and told me "I like you now mom."  and you said sorry.  An hour later you climbed up in my lap, hugged me with all you're worth and said "you're a good mommy." 
It's moments like this that I know I have a lot to learn from you.  Today I learned how much I value your opinion.  I learned that it's ok for me not to always be strong.  I learned that by showing you and telling you how you made me feel gives you permission to be honest with your emotions and yourself too.  And I learned that a big squishy Willow hug goes a long, long way.  I love you.

Mom

Bedtime

Dear Guin and Willow,

We just got done putting you both to bed.  I'm sure you're both probably too old for baby monitors, but I'll probably have them in your rooms until you're twelve.  I'm sitting here listening to you sing to yourselves and talk to your stuffed animals, and thinking how bedtime is one of my favorite times of the day. 

To be completely honest, there are days with you guys where I live for bedtime.  Keeping up with you both is so completely exhausting sometimes, especially on days like today where everything I say is something like "stop doing that" or "don't hit your sister" or "keep your tongue to yourself".  It's refreshing at least to have a moment to myself to gather my thoughts, and to get done all of the boring grown up stuff that I don't do during the day so I can try to give you guys my full attention.  I need my "me time," and there are very few days where I am not totally ready to put you guys to bed come 8:30.

We've definitely come a long way in the bedtime arena.  It's still crazy to me that we can have you both in bed in a matter of 20 minutes when it used to take hours to get you to sleep.  Dad and I consider it one of our highest personal accomplishments that we can get you to bed and asleep in a decent amount of time at night. 

But really, bedtime is my favorite time of day because I love singing lullabyes to you.  Guin, I love that you've decided I need to scratch your back while I sing to you.  Willow, I adore when you sing along with me.  The song I sing to you came from an album I fell in love with when Willow was a baby called "Blink".  It's all music about being a new mom.  The name of your lullabye is "Solomon's Song". 

Dark is the night, calm is the sea

soft blows the wind through the evening trees

tired are the eyes that have seen all you've seen

just let your mind start to dream

Puddles of rain dry overnight

the stars in the sky twinkle their eyes

the curls on your head, your fingers and toes

all need their rest for tomorrow. 

Guin, I love when you ask me why your fingers and toes need their rest for tomorrow.  I love the enthusiasm in your eyes when you ask what grand adventures you have to look forward to in the morning. 

I live for these moments each evening.  And I promise I will sing to you at bedtime until you are way too old for lullabyes. 

Love,

Mom



Willow-ism's

Willow,

My feisty, sassy little pixie - the things that come out of your mouth crack me up and amaze me all at once. 

7/23/11
W: "Mommy, it would be fun to be an owl! And I would be an owl and you would be a snake. And then an ALLIGATOR would come to EAT you! But I would swoop down and save you with my wings!"

7/11/11
M: Willow, what do you want to wear today?
W: My paleontology shirt. (Points to the dinosaur bones shirt)
M: Um, ok...How'd you get so smart?
W: I'm a paleontologist. Paleontologists are smart

6/30/11
M: Willow, please go use the potty
W: Mom, it's gonna be sixty dollars.
M: Sixty dollars? Do you know how many diapers I could buy for sixty dollars?
W: Mom, give me sixty dollars. Then I will go potty.

6/24/11
Willow, who was napping, just woke up and looked at me wearing my bandana. She said "mommy, you're a pirate."

Guin-ism's

Guin,
I am in awe of the things that you say sometimes.  You make me laugh, and at the same time you floor me almost daily with your ability to understand the world in such a smart and creative way. 

7/27/11
G: "Mom, we need to put a hot tub in the dining room."
M: "Oh yeah?  Why's that?"
G: "We could sit in it, and use the hot water to make our oatmeal."
M: "Well, where would we put the table then?"
G: "In the garage."

7/11/11
Guin, while watching Super Grover on Sesame Street... "um, that was completely unnecessary."

My first letter

Guin and Willow -

I guess I need to start by apologizing for not starting this sooner.  I stole this idea from some of my friends who have babies - they are so good about documenting each little thing that happens as their kids grow, and it's made me realize that even though you are only in your fifth and third years of life, you have already done so many things that I will not remember.  You both grow and change so quickly and I enjoy every new stage so much, but the more you blossom the more I realize how quickly these moments fade to memories. 

I want to write to you, not just to record all of the amazing little things you do and say, but to give you my perspective.  Each day you learn more about this brilliant and difficult world we live in, and I want you to know that you help me see that world in such a different way.  I want you to know that being your mom is the hardest most rewarding thing I have ever done.  I want you to know that I will never love you equally, but differently.  I want you to know that I am human, and that even though you see me through innocent, adoring eyes right now, I have, and will continue to make mistakes.  You will not always like me.  And I will not always like you.  But I want you to know that you make me a better person. 

So forgive me, my tiny women, for I won't always be perfect.  And I hope that gives you permission to be just who you are, perfectly imperfect.  My life is better each day with you both in it. 

Love,
Mom