MollyMadonna.com

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i owe you one.

HD,

You are officially 22.5 months old. Do you know what that means? It means I missed a blog post to you and have been thinking about it since February 25th. I promised myself I’d keep this up on schedule, but here I am. I hope when you read this you don’t think anything of it–only that it’s a reflection of our incredibly busy life these days, and a reflection of your incredibly tired mama. It’s true that there’s a lot happening in our world, and that the days feel longer and shorter at the same time. You are helping to keep my days beautifully full as you always do. And I can’t pretend to bottle up the past month and half in a blog post, so I won’t. But I’m here, and thinking of you, and wanting you to know I love you as much as I ever have. You make our days so bright!

We’re entering an interesting phase of life with you, Mister, and I think I have a love/hate relationship with trying to figure out how to be the best mama I can be for you at this stage. You are so full of life and so high energy…so verbal and articulate and expressive from the moment you wake up until the moment you rest your head. But sometimes I don’t seem to know what you need these days, and you may or may not be sure how to tell me. Even though you have a lot to say, I think we maybe miss the boat with each other here and there. Our 28 year gap might have something to do with that–I seem to have forgotten what it’s like to have two year old needs. Perhaps nothing but a few minutes of crying and working through it are what you need, and I should just let you have that space as you sort it out. Yet, I’ve grown so accustomed to being able to fix things for you, and it’s getting a little harder. I’m up for the challenge…I’m just sorry that I don’t always get it right. You and I are both learning a lot about patience and a lot more about grace. We’re saying “I’m sorry” to each other more and practicing forgiveness. Despite the hardest moments, I always love when we can talk about things afterward and learn more about moving in the right direction together. You are marvelous to me in that I know you somehow understand. A “yes” to the question, “Will you forgive me,” a hug and a tightly squeezed hand in mine moving forward into the rest of our day. You are still my very best little buddy.

My favorite things about you these days? Your sense of humor, for one. No need for entertainment at the dinner table–you keep us laughing meal after meal, from sun up to sun down. I love that we make faces with each other, that you dance around the room with your daddy without reservation, that we make goofy sounds and act all silly and have a blast being ridiculous on a daily basis. And then, your creativity. I love sneaking into the room to hear your cars have conversations with each other…”Time to take a bath!” “You need a towel? Ok, I can get you one.” “Ok, let’s go.” I love that you loved making “Valentimes,” and that every time we get out stickers and paper now, you exclaim, “Valentimes!” as if they’re the best thing ever. Together, we draw car carrier trucks and pick up trucks and trains til we’re blue. I never knew I had such the artistic hand at things that go, but you seem to think they’re grand. I love your filter and how it works like that! And then, your memory. I don’t know how you do it, but you remember everything. Everything. Sometimes I worry that this means you’re remembering the hard or bad things, too, and I know I won’t be able to protect your from all of that forever. Still, so far your memory serves you to recall every last place we saw a great construction vehicle, emergency scene, train track, funny little animal. You’ve started to “read” me your stories with crazy accuracy, and it’s fascinating to watch your mind work. I will be working hard for a long time to keep up with your constantly turning gears, and that’s something I so admire and adore about you!

Henry, despite the growing pains of this age, you sure do delight and surprise us more than not. Most especially in this season, I am taken with your gentleness and care for babies–including the tiny one growing in mommy’s tummy and also your sweet, sweet cousin, Emmelia. It was the absolute best to watch you interact with “Miss Mia” on our visit to Colorado last month, and I am so endeared to the way you randomly stop what you’re doing to come over and pat my belly or put your head on my lap and say, “awww” as you get as close as possible to your teeny sibling. Somehow you know what’s happening, and although I’m certain your world will change greatly come August, I know that you are building a special place in your heart for this little one who will forever be your little brother or sister–and maybe even, your very best friend. I can’t wait for you two to meet!

Little man, you are awesome. There’s no doubt about it. And you’re surrounded by beautiful people who bless our lives by being in yours. I am unbelievably thankful for the investment that so many have already poured into your world! Someday, I hope you can know just how much it means that you were so enveloped in amazing relationships when you were young–our life is FULL of incredible souls who love you without hesitation! And we love you without hesitation, Bug. We love you and love you and love you, and then we love you some more.

you are growing so fast! six more weeks and you will be TWO! can you believe it?

i blinked, and here we are. in awe of all that 22.5 months can mean,

your mama

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joy of joys.

Dearest Little Button,

Ten weeks ago I stood amazed at the sight of two faint pink lines…ones I’ve seen before, and ones that–this time around, held so much more than excitement and gratitude within them. I crawled back into bed to share the confirmation with your dad. I cried. I laughed with relief. And then I cried some more.

Someday when you’re older I’ll explain all of this, and why the weight of those two lines felt far more significant than I could have even imagined a year ago. This time, as a new life–your life, formed in my belly, everything seemed to hang in the balance. We were thrilled, of course, but afraid, in a way, to surrender ourselves simply to hope and joy. We had been praying for you for a long time. Was God really blessing us again with life? Would everything be ok? Would I find myself, somewhere in this process, at a place where I felt like I could breathe?

The answer, sweet child–to all of my questions above, has been a resounding yes. And while I do not take a moment of your precious life for granted, I want you to know that as sure as I am writing this, I believe God has ordained you for our family. For such a time as this. To be another blessing…Henry’s sibling…sheer and utter joy for all of our hearts!

Today I am fourteen weeks pregnant with you, welcoming the second trimester and the chance to share our delight in you with the world. Two weeks ago we watched you flip and flop and dance all over my belly, and again I laughed and cried with relief and absolute joy at the sight. You, at twelve weeks, were already perfectly formed as God intended you. Just shy of two inches long and yet, with fingers and toes, arms, legs, a sweet little nose–all intact and visible to our little family on that beautiful screen. You are a miracle to me. To us.

Your brother is, although so young, enamored with the idea of you. He talks about the “little tiny baby!” in mommy’s tummy with the sweetest joy. He measures his tiny fingers to the size of you, and I tell him every week how much you’ve grown. At night, he says goodnight to you, kisses my belly, leans his head on me in such a gentle way. He prays for you daily, as we all do in the little blue house.

I have been feeling little (and reassuring) twitches of you here and there all week…you’re so small, but your presence is already quite abundant in the day to day. We talk of baby prep and nursery #2 and mostly just how grateful we feel to watch my belly grow–you developing in a beautiful way and filling me up more perfectly than anyone but God could accomplish. You are fearfully and wonderfully made, little one!

I want you to know, forever and ever, that you are right where you should be…in our family, coming into the world, in this timing. It is clear to me already that God has big plans for your footprint here, and we are so taken by the chance to wait and see what He will do with your life. Keep on growing as you are, sweet one, and we’ll be here, prepping to meet you with all the love we can possibly fathom when the day arrives!

honored to be your mama. humbled by the privilege,

mm

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this i know.

21 months today. Time doesn’t appear to be going any more slowly, Hank, you know that? I keep blinking, and you keep creeping closer to two. Three more months, and we’ll be celebrating another landmark birthday…all this time we’ve had to love you and watch you grow. 

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almost exactly one year ago, at nine months.

I know as you get older these entries will likely start to embarrass you a little, but I’m not shy. I want your someday-wife and kiddos to be able to read about your humble beginnings if God permits. I want you to know that almost-two is normal and healthy, and that all of the wrestling you’ll do with your children someday is par for the course. I don’t know where they’ll get it from, but I have a sneaking hunch there might be a firecracker or two in the mix if, years from now, you grow up to be a dad. I pray you will if it’s in your heart. And I pray that your babies stretch you in the beautiful ways you’re stretching me. Stretching all of us. 

For a while, I think you called me to a higher standard of life and accountability on the sheer fact that I was suddenly your mom. Little people will do that to a new parent. It’s just a right of passage. But nowadays, and more readily, you call me to a higher standard of everything because you see and hear and notice everything. You remember it. You repeat it back. You tell me how it makes you feel. You reflect the light of whatever is around you, and if I’m dim, you’re dimmer, too. (I mean, you’re always bright to me, but I can tell–when my disposition isn’t rosy, it hurts your heart.) I’m imperfect and you’re discovering that more and more, but of far greater importance than that, I’m discovering you in a whole new light.

You observe from the moment you wake up until the moment you rest. I thought I talked a lot, but you’re giving your mama a run for her money. It’s hilarious. And glorious. And sometimes altogether exhausting, because I just can’t seem to find enough energy to match your speed. Still, it’s a marvelous thing. 

Sometimes, we stand in the mirror and look at our faces together. You make your funny face, then your sad face, then your happy! face, and you wait for me to do the same. We talk about how our hair is a different color, how our eyes are almost hard to tell apart. You recite fill-in-the-blanks of the verse taped to the mirror frame to my heart’s delight: “If any one is in…’Christ’…he is a new…’ation’ [creation]. The old has…’pass away!’ [passed away]. ‘Behold!’ the new…’has come!'” 2 Cor 5.17. Your voice sweetens every word. 

You are still chasing the dog everywhere possible. You hide under the dining room table when I ask you to stop, and then your little voice announces from underneath, “hiding.” Thank you, wee one. I didn’t know. You still can’t chase the dog 😉 We play, “Where’s Henry?” even if you are standing right in front of me, and somehow, you believe I can’t see you until I say I can. If I take too long, “Right here. Henry’s here,” you remind me. You want to read The Little Engine That Could six times a day. You always ask to read your Bible at bedtime. You recite, Night, Night Little Pookie with a comic flair that makes me bubble up with happiness. You still snuggle with the best of them, and I am soaking it in like crazy all I can. 

You love your LEGOS and anything that starts with the word, “Surprise!” A sticker. A matchbox car. A bill in the mail that I let you open. Your morning yogurt. If I’m not careful, a “surprise” will not mean much for long, but you get so “cited!” I can’t help but point out delights in the little things you’re not expecting in the moment. You look after your zoo animals, sea creatures, bedtime buddies and car collection with care. You make me a salad and cookies everyday in your kitchen. I love to see you begin to diversify your interests at this stage: coloring, painting, play doh, building, reading, magnets, anything with water. Your firsts swimming lessons have been (mostly) a hit.

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resting up for more playtime with all of the usual suspects. love. you.

 

Right now, one of my very favorite Henry-isms is the fact that you want to “snuggle in the rocker” after every bath time. You cozy up in a bundle on my lap and help me to sing, “Jesus Loves Me,” currently number one on HD’s Top 40 hits. You shout the words, “I know!” and “so!” and “belong!” but you whisper the word, “strong,” and it gets me every time. I imagine you being in awe of God’s strength, so much so that you have to whisper as you marvel at it. I marvel at it, too. “Yes, Jesus ‘Loves Meeeeeeee!'” you sing over and over. I pray that this truth is implanted ever so deeply in your heart.

We are rounding the corner on all kinds of exciting things, not the least of which include more playtime in the snow, your very first auto show(!), Valentine’s Day and card-making, a trip to Colorado to see your favorite cousin (and her mom and dad:), Easter, and then before you know it, the big numero dos. Are you ready for it? Throw in a few molars, probably a few more days relegated to the indoors, plenty of trips to Target and the grocery store, bagels at JP’s, a few more swim lessons, and a surprise adventure or two in the making, and we’re in for a full Winter/early Spring. I hope you’ll be happy as we make our way through these next days and weeks and months of discovering. If you’re having half as good a time learning as we have watching you do it, you must be faring decently well. Keep growing at your pace, on your time. We’ll be along for the ride!

love you to pieces, sweet munchkin boy. still couldn’t be more thrilled to be your mom!

mm

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here’s to you, fancy new year.

Well hello there, 2013. I expected your arrival and yet, here we are, eleven days into the new year and I’m only just now offering a proper greeting. If time’s passing over these past few weeks is any indication, you’ll be over just as quickly as you came. I’m not one for wishing days away though…perhaps we can settle on some sort of agreement–January speeds by, February passes through on its heels, and when March arrives, you slow things down just a bit. Sound ok?

A lot has already filled the contents of this first glimpse at 2013, and I’m just trying to keep up. Travels home to see family, an exciting new writing project, being on call for doula work, Henry’s first swimming lesson, a work trip for JMK, Christmas teardown, and the rearranging of our living room. Add in the daily routine and a very busy and energetic almost-two year old, and things around here are bustling. January always seems like a quiet month to me, but not so thus far. I know I’ll blink and it will be gone. Maybe this is what people have always meant when they advise that time goes faster as we age. I’m 30. Should I understand this concept yet?

At any rate, I’ve been remiss in paying tribute to 2012 in the shuffle–a year with as many ups and downs as I personally feel able to handle. There were high points, certainly, and some of the lowest points to date as well. I almost always feel a little twinkle of sadness as the New Year’s Eve countdown begins, but as we looked toward a fresh start (over games and popcorn and camaraderie with my sister, brother-in-law, and two sleeping(ish) kiddos in Chicago) this year, I wasn’t terribly sad to close the door. We’ve grown, changed, adjusted, loved, ached, taken pause, celebrated, hoped, ached a little more, tried to pick up our boot straps and move along…all in a year’s time. And a new year means even more fresh hope, a resetting of our systems, a new lease on what life might offer our little family. I can certainly toast to that!

So, here’s to you, fancy new year, with all of your bells and whistles (at least, I imagine you must have them. I’m a glass half full kind of girl, you know.) Here’s to turning new pages and finding great new reasons to celebrate. Here’s to anniversaries and memories and birthdays and (hopefully) little getaways that allow us to refresh with one another. And here’s to 2012 and the ways it stretched us and challenged and pushed back and bristled, even in and amongst some of the most beautiful moments we’ve shared as a family (1st birthdays, gatherings to honor Gramma, my niece’s sweet arrival this Summer). Eleven days in, I’m embracing the chance to wipe the slate clean and to move on in great anticipation for what God will do throughout 2013. It is always a marvelous wonder to be along for the ride!

cheers!

mm

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so this is Christmas…

(Disclaimer: I always aim to commemorate every 25th, but in the midst of holiday celebrating and traveling, I didn’t post this to you on time, HD. I love you six days more as a result;)

Henry David,

It’s Christmas Day and you are dressed in little red pajamas with petite Christmas light bulbs scattered all over your pants. Your shirt made you take three steps back in excitement when you opened it up this morning: all red with a bright orange pickup truck toting a gigantic, lit up Christmas tree in the back. You love pickup trucks, and I love you. You can be confident that this is true, because I would never have fathomed buying you pickup truck pajamas for Christmas otherwise. Somehow, you make them darling, as you do with most things.

This time last year, you were a mere eight months old and wearing your first Christmas jammies: red and white velour stripes with a reindeer on the behind. In my heart it was the best Christmas ever–our first Christmas with you, your aunt and uncle visiting, all of us tucked warmly into the little blue house and celebrating so much love…

And then this year rolled around. It’s true it’s not the same without Auntie B, Uncle Teddy and your sweet cousin Emmelia here, but it’s equally as good in a different way. (Doesn’t hurt that we’ll get to see them in a mere TWO days!) We’re celebrating Christmas somewhat quietly, with Grammy Susan visiting, our usual brunch and dinner on the menu, and a mostly modest exchange of gifts that we’ve hoped will delight you (and one another). We barricaded you from the living room this morning so we could all go in together–daddy with the camera rolling to capture your little face as you noticed the presents waiting. Your big gift from us this year is a play kitchen. I am probably the most excited of all about this particular gift…so much of our world is cars and trucks and things that go, and I just know you’ll grow into your imagination as you create and cook and bake us through the coming winter months at home. In true Henry fashion, you’ve already declared the oven a garage for your newest matchbox cars, and I’m good with that. At twenty months old (today!) you’re a stinking riot to watch.

When you discovered the pile of gifts this morning your shouted, “robot!” as you ran towards the stuffed character we’ve been eyeing for weeks at the toy store. It took you mere seconds to come up with a name for him (“Moses!”) and to declare yourselves fast friends. It is a joy to see you come into your own, and to discover that your opinions are pronounced, decided, consistent. In moments like these, we best realize that your busy mind never stops–you are always processing something, and certainly soaking everything in. We consider it sheer luck to have landed you, not-so-little one. As your parents, we get as much out of loving you as we possibly could out of any other endeavor.

I don’t know whether this will be a Christmas you remember, or if it might be one that’s tucked into the hazy recesses of your toddler years. If you do remember it, I trust you’ll recall all of the fun we had–cozying up in the house, munching on Christmas cookies, and watching The Snowman before tucking you in for a nap. And if not, well, we’ll certainly remember it…the way you stayed in your jammies and played and played for hours with all of your new things, the way you loved the washcloth I pulled out of the kitchen drawer just as much as all of your wrapped up gifts, the way we prayed over Christmas dinner and talked about baby Jesus while the music played quietly and the candles burned bright.

So this is Christmas, my little love. Baby Jesus has been born in a stable and He is lighting up every corner of the world. Mary and Joseph take Him in in wonder, pondering the Miracle of His coming and not yet knowing the impact of His presence here on earth. Watching you, I understand this sense of marvel–this reverence for the unknown and the beauty of it all in the making. You are filling up our own little Bethlehem on this Christmas night, warming a space in our hearts that means more than we could comprehend, bringing joy and hope to our corner of the world.

praying you’ll always know, deep in your heart, the reason for all of this holiday pomp and circumstance.

love you forever,
your mama