This morning I was sitting at the dining room table with my laptop and planner and was making some phone calls. I could hear the kids tinkering and clanging with toys in the playroom and I stopped for a moment and thought "wow." Most frazzled mama's can understand the the "wow" factor in this situation.
That first year with Teddy was tough. I kept my head down and repeated my daily mantra "just keep swimming, just keep swimming." I fed, potty trained, made "kid friendly meals" and attempted solids. I rocked to sleep and shushed and changed and put away blocks and books fifty times a day. I swept up cheerios, reheated my coffee, occasionally showered and sometimes I yelled. I let the mail pile up every week. I didn't read a single book and wore heels on three occasions. I wore my favorite yoga pants until they were threadbare and perfected the "mommy bun." I swaddled and tucked in two babies until it was all a blur. The last year felt like "slippers, bun, coffee, pass out. Repeat."
I wondered as the months whooshed by and autumn rolled into winter if I was actually getting dumber with time. I couldn't write an intelligent sentence for the life of me and as I already mentioned reading was something I looked upon with fond memories (unless you count all the reading I did on mommy forums trying to figure out why my kid won't freaking sleep!!). I yearned a creative outlet yet at the same time I felt like I had nothing to offer anyway. I was whipping myself up into a frenzy of self-doubt until I read a few interviews with Adele last month and it all clicked.

baby girl,

Your mama has been a mess. The last 24 hours have left me teary eyed, nostalgic and heartbroken. Regardless of all the warnings I have received it still came much too fast... I've been asking myself nonstop "Surely she can't be three. She just can't..." And yet here you are - your confident, bubbly, independent and determined self. While I sit here at the table and fantasize about holding six pounds of you in a newborn onesie you turn to me, chocolate frosting on that sweet button nose, and tell me "Nank-u for getting me those donutss mama." And in the same beat my heart swells with pride and breaks over just how big you're getting. It's all happening way too fast my angel.
As the clock struck two am last night I cried into papa's shoulder and kept repeating "I just thought I would get more time." I thought I would get more time with you as a newborn. A baby. A two year old... But time doesn't wait and with each new dawn I watch yet another layer peel away to reveal something new, wonderful and so unique. Watching you grow and change is one of the most exhilarating things I have ever had the honor of witnessing, even if sometimes I wish you could slow down.
But you have never been one for moderation. You couldn't wait to enter this world and you've been in a real big hurry ever since then. I can hardly believe that just this week we learned how to write your name! You beamed with pride at the squiggly letters on the page. To me you may as well have written "I'm growing up at lightning speed mama! Hold on!!" But really, truly, I couldn't be more proud. You make me light up when I watch you read books to your brother, when you clean up your room before bedtime, when you cut out shapes perfectly and when you finally said adieu to diapers this week! You are a champ baby girl!!
But more than anything I am proud of your beautiful heart. The way you care for your brother and wait anxiously every morning for him to wake up. The way you tell me "you bootful mama" and the way you give me "lovins" when you see that I'm sad. The way you let everyone else go first at the playground and volunteer to share your toys with Teddy. The way you tell me, after a good chat in the car, "I love talkin to you mama." You are strong willed and independent and feisty but beneath that is the most tender soul and heart and I absolutely adore that about you.
Baby thank you for teaching me patience, forgiveness and selflessness. I walked into that hospital still a girl. I walked out a woman and for that I will always have you to thank. Although there are days that I miss sharing my body with you I take comfort in the fact that you carry a piece of me inside you, a piece of my heart. Sharing that with you is at once the most frightening and painful thing I have ever gone through but also the most magical and wonderful too. I promise to always be your best friend, your protector and your guide. And when I fail at that I promise to always be honest and offer you an apology from the depths of my soul. Thank you for trusting me to be your mama, it is the biggest honor I have ever been bestowed.

love always and kisses upon kisses,

mama

As I sat at the table today with my almost three year old covering oranges in cloves, the spicy scent all over our fingers, my mind wandered to a memory tucked far away...
When I was eight years old and we were still living in England my parents decided to surprise us with a Christmas getaway. We drove for hours over hills dusted with snow and peppered with sheep. As dusk began to descend and bathe the hills in a periwinkle blue we arrived in Canterbury. It was a magical little town and I'm sure to my grown up eyes it would look like a fairytale but being a child at the time and somewhat spoiled by living in Oxford for a few years it looked very much like where we had come from. Nevertheless, my brother and I were bubbling over with excitement. After all it was almost Christmas!!
We stayed in a tiny unimpressive home. My parents had waited until the last minute to book something and being immigrant students they didn't have a lot of money in the first place. But my father always had the ability to create ambiance and make anything feel festive. Together with mum they decorated the place with homemade paper garlands, baked a special cake that daddy bedecked with red and green marzipan. Christmas music boomed from our trusty red radio and one could hear the familiar crunch of wrapping paper being lovingly wrapped around packages.
On Christmas eve our parents decided to take us to the local Episcopal church for their mass. We got bundled up and made our way through town. The sky was black but sparkling with stars (I always enjoyed star gazing in the country, it was as if they really pulled out all the stops) and although it was very late the the town was buzzing. As we neared the glowing church we saw people pouring in through the open doors. The faint sound of singing could be heard too.
It was the most beautiful church I've ever seen. Stained glass windows projecting images of the nativity onto the snow. Century old doors heaving under the weight of giant fragrant wreaths topped with the most lustrous red bows. Inside the church was aglow with candles - everywhere. You were handed one as soon as you walked in and they were everywhere you looked, melting all around, the smell of wax mixing with pine and citrus. I've never felt the spirit of Christmas more acutely than I did that night...
A wonderful and quick (always important when you're eight years old) liturgy was said and then we were regaled with hymns by the most angelic boys choir for the remainder of the night. They wrapped up their program with a rendition of Silent Night and we began to be ushered outside. As we made our way out of the church we were each gifted an orange adorned with cloves and small red bow. I'll never forget the smell as long as I live.
Walking home and leaving behind the last notes of "Christ the Savior is bornnn..." I cradled my orange and thought about how no matter what was waiting for me inside the pretty wrapping paper I had already had the best Christmas ever. My heart was so full of gratitude and I felt peace envelope me, all of us actually. Inside our warm temporary little home we discarded our coats and scarves and hats but the smiles remained well into the evening of even the next day.
All these years later my heart still skips a beat when I smell that familiar scent of citrus and cloves...