Saturday, January 9, 2016

six months old

eating • everything in sight + reach - you LOVE food and have now tasted avocado, sweet potatoes, applesauce, banana, peas, raspberries + watermelon
sleeping • terribly, but it comes with the age, I believe
wearing • six month sizes - we just took them out of storage and they're snug, so we'll be getting out nine month clothes soon
milestones • 10/01 - first trip to the county fair • 10/08 - first swing at sportsman lake park • 10/10 - first oktoberfest + taste of german chocolate cake to celebrate your half birthday • using your hands well, but you throw an absolute fit any time you can't hold onto something that interests you • speaking of things that interest you - the distracted nursing has begun • you LOVE your sister and anything she does, except when she takes a toy out of your hands - you aren't afraid to let the whole world know when you're mad • you started fighting sleep by simply yelling - not angrily, more like a constant noise to keep yourself awake

I wrote this months ago and have been carrying around a tattered piece of paper full of the scribbles that make up this letter for months now. While the difficulties I wrote about have almost passed, it was still important to me to put this here. A few nights a month, I stay up way too late for someone with two kids to look after, to work on turning this digital version of our story into a physical version. Even when I get months behind and even if no one else cares to read it, I like to sit and catch up on my stories about babies and hard times and love because someday these words will be bound in a book that my kids will pull down off of our bookshelves to reminisce and bond over. Our life has been hard and it isn't all that I dreamed about at times, but it's our story and it makes my stomach do flips when I think about being the keeper of our family's stories for years to come.

Dear Noble,
Our life has been a whirlwind since you joined us and for that, I feel an indescribable amount of guilt. The feeling of babyhood slipping through my fingers is a familiar one, but this is harder than that. Our life is so hectic each day, so tense. I carry around this heavy burden of knowing that you deserve more than this. I long for the same kind of start to life I gave your sister - days with a slow, rhythmic quality, a calm space with room for you to play, roll, crawl, a normal schedule with a celebration to top the day off (the joyous occasion of Papa coming home and a meal enjoyed together), bike rides down sun speckled streets, uninterrupted naps, hikes through the beauty of the high desert with you perched behind me in the frame pack, hearing you wake from far away and the anticipation of walking down the hallway to lift you up and reunite. Our days are full, but of what I'm not sure, nothing that feels as though it matters, nothing soul-building, nothing memory-making. When I fall into bed and the rest of the family have all found their places for the night, all I want is to wake you up and enjoy a quiet moment together. I want to rock you in our rocking chair and watch your eyes flutter and finally close as you succumb to the heaviness of sleep. There is so much that isn't possible for us right now. It's feels like we've been cheated out of our time together. I miss you without having been away from you. I worry that all this stress and tension that fills our days will form you in some irepareable way, so I pray for your resilience often. I think of our home building timeline in terms of how old you will be when we finish. It seems like a race for our bond and our sanctuary. Regardless of all of this, I am finding so much joy in being your Mama and watching you grow. You have a magical spirit.


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