January 23, 2012
Letters to Arlo.
Dear Arlo,
I was reading a beautiful story by another blogger last week when I was stopped abruptly by these words:
“God makes children so specifically for us, each of them.” ~Arianna Segerman
It called on me to sit down and write this to you. Before you were born, I carried some assumptions about parenting. For one, that going through it once already meant I knew what I was doing. I took a lot for granted. My babies would be completely healthy. My babies would eat and sleep and do what all the best babies do.
And you were ten days old when I realized that I was completely wrong. We spent the next six months of your life being told that things weren’t right. We didn’t sleep. You cried and I cried. You were diagnosed with five different conditions, some minor some major. We learned pretty quickly that we needed to make big adjustments to our attitude and our way of life. During all of this, I spent a lot of time rationalizing things with God. I asked him why my son had to deal with these things. What had I done to cause this? I found one thousand different ways to blame myself for your troubles.
One day, as I sometimes do, I scrolled back through my blog and landed on a letter I had written to you before you were born. These were my words:
“Sometimes I sit quietly with my hands on either side of my belly and feel you move. I feel the hardness of your little hands and feet as you push against me and I am overcome with peace. Your presence there inside me, envelops me head to toe with the deepest of faiths. In the same way in which I have learned to follow God, In the way I have learned to make a life with your father, In the way I have learned to care for your sister - with that same faith I will trust you to come into this world in your own individual way.
And I will keep brushing away the preconceived notions of who you will be - those unfounded comments on what I should expect - because I feel you speaking to me already. And with every roll of my belly, you say to me “I am here, becoming. And I will be the exact boy you need in your life, mama. No more or no less”
Without knowing it at the time, I was writing to my future self, sending words that she would find when her baby boy was 5 months old. They were written, somewhat naively, but with conviction and when I found them again, they settled down on me like a thick sweater. I read them over and over, getting comfortable with the realization that you are the exact boy, the only boy, that could grow my soul and teach my heart. From your unexpected addition to our family, to your beautiful birth and the ups and downs of the months since- I am constantly reminded that God handpicked you as my son. He chose perfectly, but then again, He always does.
God knew I could use a little humility. God knew our family could use a little magic. And so he created a son for us who could give both. While I wish you never had to deal with any of these physical challenges for even a day, I have learned to marvel at your ability to be slowed by nothing. You are a force, little boy!
I was right, you know, when I wrote those words to you. I knew it then and you’ve proven it now. You will always be the exact boy I need in my life. No more and no less.
Love,
Mama
November 16, 2011
Letters to Arlo, on the Eve of your Sixth Month.
Dear Arlo,
You are six months old tomorrow and I am listening to the playlist I made for the night you were born. I remember carefully listening to each song, balancing the laptop over my big belly and trying to pick just the right mix of music to welcome you into the world. As I write this, in between lilty lyrics and pretty choruses , flashes of our first meeting play out in my head. I remember your tiny fingers outstretched, my hair wet and clingy to my shoulders, and the back-lit shape of your father’s lips saying “Hello son”.
The night you were born was one of the best of my entire life. Bringing you into this world made me believe that I really can do anything and it solidified the creeping suspicion in my heart that the reason God put me on this earth was to be a mother. With you in one arm, and Everly in the other, I looked down at you both and felt for the first time that I had my answers. There was no more wondering who I would become or what my legacy would be. I was made to nurture and love you and I will spend the rest of my life doing it to the best of my ability.
Your first six months of life have not been without their challenges. Together we have battled many episodes of severe reflux. We have searched for answers in test after test at the offices of various specialists (A Radiologist, Cardiologist, Urologist, and two Opthalmologists to be exact). We have tried to make sense of conditions that we never anticipated. Despite these things, you are a healthy, vibrant, little boy. Everyone is constantly commenting on how strong, happy and sweet natured you are.
Next month you have your first surgery to start correcting some of your health problems- I get frightened when I think about them putting you to sleep but God has been quieting my fears. Whenever the worry creeps in, I hear Him call on my heart “I have big plans for this small boy” and I believe with everything inside of me that he will watch over you and help guide us through these surgeries.
Arlo, I know that what lies ahead of you is so great that my heart nearly burst with anticipation for your future. There is an indescribable wonderness to your spirit. I try daily to put words around it - your father and I have had countless conversations on how there is just something about you - inside you - radiating out and all over us. A tangible peace. A soulful joy. I look forward to the day the whole world can see and feel and know the plans God is whispering in our ears about you.
These days, I watch as you are putting together what you know of the world. Yesterday you army crawled and rolled across the rug in the living room to get to a little sliver of sunlight that was shining down. You studied it so intently, batting your chubby fingers in the white light in an attempt to touch it. At night when you are close to sleep, you run your fingertips down the palm of my hands and over the length of my fingers as I turn them over for you again and again. It has become our ritual, the familiar warmth of my body curled around yours, our hands turning over in one another’s, as you ever so slowly fall away to dream.
You are my night owl. My morning bird. Wise, wondrous, Magical. I could have never imagined how much you could teach me about patience, and perspective and having faith in what lies ahead. Because of you, I will never look at a full moon the same way again. Whenever I see one in the night sky, I think of the night you were born - its yellow glow there with us as we met you for the first time. I think of your little round face, your beaming spirit, and the brilliant path that God is illuminating for our family.
Happy six months, my baby.
The biggest love,
Mama
July 11, 2011
Letters to Arlo.
Dear Son,
There is no doubt that you are a mama’s boy. I seem to be the only one you want when you need to be soothed or cuddled… but when it comes to who is best at getting you to flash that gummy smile, your daddy wins every time.
Love,
Mama
June 14, 2011
Letters to Arlo.
My magical little boy,
You’ve been handed a crummy card with this reflux business. It creeps into your peaceful sleep and down upon your mellow attitude like a poisonous snake. When I watch your little face scrunch up in discomfort and your body twist in pain, it’s like a knife to my heart. The distinct pitch of your shrieking cry when reflux bares down on you is the only part of this experience that I hope to one day forget. Despite this, I am awed daily by the gentleness of your soul and the way everyone who meets you seems to be washed in the harmony of your spirit.
I spend so much time lately propping you up on my knees and watching the daylight through the windows reflect in your ocean colored eyes. Sometimes you smile in your sleep and I’m certain the bursting of my heart is audible to anyone standing close by. I whisper in your ear that I love you and tell you all the ways that we belong to one another and hope that I am a part of whatever is making you smile in your dreams.
Love,
Mama
March 13, 2011
Letters to Arlo
My dearest Arlo,
When I was in elementary school, I kept a diary. It was peach with a gold lock on one side that could easily be pried open with a little arm strength (and I’m certain your uncle Wayne discovered this pretty quickly). I still have that little diary and occasionally, when I’m in need of a good laugh I’ll read through the pages. There are stories written in my shaky handwriting about field trips, sleepovers with my best friend (Your Aunt Abby), cute boys who chased me on the playground, and fun things I did with my parents. Often, in trying to express my enthusiasm for an experience at that young age, I often resorted to writing things like “We went to the zoo this weekend. The polar bears were my favorite. It was so so so so so much fun.”
All those “so’s”
Here I am a grown woman with an English degree under my belt. I’ve spent years playing with words in an attempt to express all that lives inside me in written form, but this morning, as I folded a pile of tiny little pants and onesies we’re collecting for you, the only words that seemed appropriate for truly conveying the joy and love I feel for you sounds exactly like a sentence out of my childhood diary. My heart’s song scribbled to you in blue crayon between the lines of the page.
My little Arlo, I am so so so so so (SO!) excited for you to join our family.
Love,
Mama
(image via)
February 8, 2011
Letters to Arlo.
My dear little son,
I am growing more overwhelmed by the day, knowing that your existence in my arms is growing closer. Before you became my reality, I was so wrapped up in having a daughter that little boys in general felt like this wild, mystical, otherworldly thing. But these days I am consumed with the idea of a son of my own.
Everyone loves to tell me that you’re going to be hell on wheels. That having two well behaved, good-natured babies in a row is as rare as being struck by lightening. For a little while in the beginning, I worried they might be right. As time has passed, however, I have found a quiet confidence in who you will be. I think you will prove them all wrong.
Sometimes I sit quietly with my hands on either side of my belly and feel you move. I feel the hardness of your little hands and feet as you push against me and I am overcome with peace. Your presence there inside me, envelops me head to toe with the deepest of faiths. In the same way in which I have learned to follow God, In the way I have learned to make a life with your father, In the way I have learned to care for your sister - with that same faith I will trust you to come into this world in your own individual way.
And I will keep brushing away the preconceived notions of who you will be - those unfounded comments on what I should expect - because I feel you speaking to me already. And with every roll of my belly, you say to me “I am here, becoming. And I will be the exact boy you need in your life, mama. No more or no less”
May these next 13 weeks fly by, my precious boy. I am so ready for you.
Love,
Mama
January 11, 2011
Letters to Little Mister.
Baby boy,
This is my first letter to you, although you’ve been hearing an earful from your mama for a while now.
You are such a magical, new thing in my life. Some parts of you feel so familiar to me already. Your movements and kicks, the rounding of my belly and this ache in my back. But there are parts of our journey so far that are distinctly yours. Time spent imagining your face. Trying your name out on my tongue. Collecting little blue hats and plaid pants for you. Each day I am feeling my way through the uncharted territory of having a son.
For now, I study your last ultrasound photos - looking closely at the tiny bones in your hands and feet. I keep going back to this grainy photo of your nose and lips. There is something about this tiny peek into you becoming you that keeps linger in my thoughts. That perfect nose, those little lips that already look so much like ones I kiss daily- you feel like everything I know and yet, remarkably different.
I am awed by what you have become in 5 months time and how much you’ve shifted and shaped our family already. We are making room for you in every part of our home and hearts. We await your newness. Anticipate your familiarity. And can not wait for you to arrive.
Love,
your mama
