On your first birthday...

In a blink of an eye, you are one years old. I knew it would go by quickly, but I never anticipated it to go by this quickly. I could go down the rabbit hole of "where did the year go?" but I'll save you the trouble of reading that.

When we were first told that we were having a girl, I panicked. I was terrified. But now, one year later, I realize that I, above all else, am filled with hope for you. I hope for so much for you. So much, that I could never share it all.

But here's a start.

I hope that you never tire of us telling you we love you. And you never tire of saying it back.
I hope you always find comfort in my arms, no matter how big you are.
I hope you don't need to be the center of attention, but appreciate when you are.
I hope you laugh with such enthusiasm others around you can't help but smile.
I hope you jump in every puddle, every time.
I hope you never take advantage of others.
I hope you're scared of things, but have the ability and willingness to overcome them.
I hope you make friends easily.
I hope you don't sweat the small stuff.
I hope you travel the world, but always come home.
I hope you have your heart broken, so you can appreciate true love and its rarity.
I hope you like to dance, especially if you're not good at it.
I hope you don't become obsessed with Frozen.
I hope you always wear sunscreen.
I hope you like watching football, but prefer basketball.
I hope you appreciate classical music,
I hope you're warm and compassionate to all people (but never tolerate less than the same).
I hope your first job is humbling and your last job worthwhile.
I hope you try new foods with gusto.
I hope you enjoy the feeling of flying- in your father's arms, on a plane, and in love.
I hope you never bungee jump or skydive or do anything that involves risking your life.
I hope you disregard the above if it means following in your father's footsteps.
I hope you have a southern drawl.
I hope you have the confidence to walk proudly and embrace every part of you.
I hope you never speak ugly words.
I hope you walk with your eyes looking ahead.
I hope you never start biting your nails or dying your hair.
I hope you see the value in keeping in touch with old friends.
I hope you write thank you notes on real stationery.
I hope you seek adventure -- but not so much that I'm constantly worried.
I hope you like to cook.
I hope you love the beach as much as I do.
I hope you learn that people can let you down, but others will never let you fall.
I hope you have opinions.
I hope you vote.
I hope you understand the importance of choice in all things.
I hope you like pizza, hot peppers, and Ranch.
I hope you fight for what you want.
I hope you never stop asking questions.
I hope you follow your dreams, even if they aren't ours.
I hope you know how much we all love you and you never forget it. Ever.

I will do everything in my power to make all of these things possible for you... and then some.

I love you the most.

Love,
Me

A letter to my daughter

My Dearest Darling,

A single event can change your life forever and your birth did just that. And while it may seem trite, it is true: my love for you grows stronger with each passing day. I am proud to have been called by God to be a mother and not just any mother, but your mother. While I will certainly make mistakes, it will not be because I haven't tried to give you the world you so deserve. 

I remember the morning you were born. It was bitter cold and snow still held on to the shady patches of grass and road. The sky was blue and the sun was peeking in over the curtains that had been drawn the night before. The nurse who had checked us in the previous night had long been off work, but had snuck back in for your arrival. With no end in sight, our room was full of doctors and nurses, discussing options. I was exhausted and the monitors showed that you were too. We had reached our limits. But, as you'll soon learn, the women in this family are fighters and so we pushed through together, without medicine or interventions. And from the moment they placed you in my arms, I knew my life would never be the same.  I looked at your father as they took you from me and thought, How strange.  Everything is different.

And so, as we approach the halfway mark to the first year of life, I would like to share with you just a few things I've learned:

I'm terrified. While I am (fairly) confident in my ability to be your mother, I'm still terrified every time your cry changes, or you roll to your tummy and sleep face down, or sleep for fours hours during your nap instead of your normal two, or that you're still hungry after I nurse you. And that doesn't even touch on the things I know are coming; walking, climbing, school, boyfriends, marriage and your own children. All the things I don't know, terrify me. But it's a healthy scare. A reality check that raising you requires more than what your father and I can give you. It requires faith and help from God.

I can't always protect you, although I will always try. I learned this in just the first week of your life when we noticed something wasn't right. This lesson in parenthood has been the most challenging and painful one to acknowledge. Your pain is magnified in me and my heart breaks with every tear you shed. But you've given me strength I never knew I had, too. And when you're hurting, I am at my strongest, for you. I know I can't always be there to catch you when you fall, but I'll always be there to pick up the pieces.

You are strong. And you will be okay. Long before you were born I prayed for you to have your father's strength and you do. You are brave and show no fear. I hope you always find that inner strength as you continue to face the world.

You bring joy I never imagined. When faced with sorrow, your simple smile brings life back into a room.  When it's the fifth time I've walked half asleep into your room and you put your head on my shoulder, my frustration melts and I'm consumed by your love. When I'm exhausted in a way I didn't know was possible, your giggle gives me energy. For every day we are blessed to have you, I feel pure happiness. There will never be a day I'll be ready to say goodbye.

My sweet, perfect angel on earth, thank you for making me something more than I was before: your mother. I love you more than you'll ever know; my whole heart for my whole life. I love you and am incredibly proud to be your mom.


                                                                                      Love,
                                                       Incredibly Exhausted and Loving It      

No, that's not a beer belly.

We're trading silent nights for sleep walking, messy diapers, and squeaky toys.  Yup, we're going to be parents!  While I may have tried hiding my growing bump during the majority of the first two trimesters, we've reached week 39 and there's no denying our family is growing.  But this, of course, is not new news!  In fact, if you were one of the lucky ones to have been by my side prior to IVs and finally daily medication, you knew from the endless vomiting, the turning down of food (I do NOT turn down food) and the increased naps.  Yup, from the very beginning, it's been obvious.  But the idea of us being parents, apparently wasn't.

 

 

Thirty weeks

 

Once we made the announcement the questions came flooding in as to whether or not it was planned. Oh, here we go again. Let me be frank.  Those who may be sensitive to blunt honesty, please stop reading now.  No, really, stop reading if you're going to be offended. 

Yes, this child was planned.  My husband and I are no longer young enough to feign ignorance or extreme naivety.  At this age, knowing what we know about the birds and bees, how could we ever say she was not (and keep a straight face)?  Yes, she was very much planned.  Was it part of our plan to tell our friends, family and complete strangers when we would start trying?  Well, no, but bless your heart for thinking we would.  

So now that some of you are upset with my honesty (honesty is afterall the best policy, though not always a welcomed one), let me also share this: stop asking.  Stop asking people if the pregnancy is planned.  Frankly, it is not proper to ask, nor is it appropriate.  In the rare chance that you happen to ask the one mother who happened to be the 1 in 100 to get pregnant while using a form of birth control, chances are she's not going to be overly excited to share that their child is indeed unplanned.  Let's face it, when you hear the words "We didn't plan to have a baby", you immediately think "and yet, there you are, all pregnant and bringing a child into the world you didn't even want".  And THAT is just ignorant.