 Dear baby,
Earth day bubba, who bangs on the porch door each day, demanding to be let out into the sun or rain or wind, elements be damned, so long as you can greet the day outside. You are as committed to your joy as you are your anger. I love all of your bold feelings, even when they challenge my own. I love so very much about you…your sparkly blue eyes and white-blonde hair, like a little surfer dude straight from the womb, I can practically smell the beach on your skin. Your wobbly but speedy run, as you charge towards me for a hug. Your laugh, your gapped teeth, your sweet nature of sharing and how you intently watch and mirror your sisters (both human and pup). I love how much you adore music and dancing. How you snuggle into your grandparents for reading books, and how you blow kisses to Saylor before bedtime. Your sleep is interrupted at best each night, and I admit that mama is often tired while stumbling to your room to comfort and soothe. But I’d be lying if I did not also admit that holding you is heaven on earth, and in the quiet, safe, calm corner of our home that feels as though it belongs to just you and me, I find deep gratitude for my life. As we rock together I am reminded of the magic within the crossbody hold of nursing, how we fit together as puzzle pieces. My baby, breathing softly, chubby hand tucked into the top of my shirt near my chest. Becoming your mom during a personally, particularly challenging season has taught me so very much. No doubt you’ll hear for years how you were born during a globally strange time for most. So if and when (when, baby, because that means you are truly living) you also find yourself in the shadows of humanity, wondering which end is up, I’ll remind you of what nurturing your beloved existence has shown me: You can do this. You can crack to the most tender, raw, vulnerable part of your being and survive. You can strip away all of the numbing and costumes. Without props for proving or pleasing or performing involved, you can be loved and accepted for who you are. You can show the people who truly love you most, any and all of your shame, darkness and fears. They, I, we, won’t turn away. Allow them to look right into your truth, voice shaking or tears falling, and relief will be felt by all. You can model for others what that kind of courage looks like, and how it can open a life to beauty in ways one cannot have imagined. Things will change. It will be scary and awkward and unknown. It will be f*cking hard. Push onward. Some things will fall away and it will be intensely sad to dwell in the layers that peel back. But other things will dig deeper in your bones and it will be stunning to feel them take up that much desired, deserved space. It is all possible. I wish you the presence to recognize the beauty. I wish you the strength to stay in the hot, uncomfortable places of your journey. Burn it all away when it no longer serves you, baby. What’s left is what matters. What’s left is your best life. Happy Birthday, G. I love you so, so much. xo, Mama
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