I'm rambling today, but not aloud. Rambling with my words on paper and the thoughts in my head. You know, those thoughts that sometimes shake you to the core, even though you can't put your finger on them?
I hardly slept last night because I made the mistake of watching the news before bed. The news that fills me with sadness and horrific images and stories of people who were victims of someone who took their lives for no reason. It's unthinkable that we live in such a world full of such evil. Unthinkable that we aren't safe anywhere. You could be here today and gone tomorrow. I'm just wondering about these people and their panic. How scary this situation must have been. How absolutely life changing and anxiety inducing.
I'm anxious about it and nowhere close.
I remember when the shooting at Virginia Tech happened. I cried tears and sat in classrooms anxious. I was always that girl in the front, the one asking ?s. Close to the door. I sat there, anxious, just staring out the windows knowing I'd be the first to go if a crazed gunman entered our room. And that could happen. That does happen.
I've always been hypersensitive and empathetic. I used to think it was abnormal for me to be able to feel so deeply what others feel. I often wished I could just turn it off because it tore me up inside. I hated feeling other's heartbreak. It'd hit me like a ton of bricks. And my own heartbreak? It was always too much. My feelings hurt for being left out, for being forgotten, and then the internal battle to forget it. Not so easy. The losses, oh the losses.
A life lost.
A love lost.
A child lost.
The tears I've cried for people I didn't know have broken me. The sleepless nights for the children I have never met, the children who never had the chance to grow have changed me. Isn't it funny how love and loss can shape you? The love you have and the love you lose are two of the most crucial aspects that make us who we are. The love for my own children is almost too much for me to bear. The worry about them. I have woken up in a sweat just scared of losing them.......
Tuesday, October 3, 2017
Thursday, September 28, 2017
Oh, Mom.
When you’re a young girl, you’re told to chase your dreams, go to college, become self-sufficient. What you aren’t told is that perhaps one day that you will be a mom. You aren’t told that that your life will no longer be yours once you birth your beautiful baby. You aren’t told that the word “I” disappears from your vocabulary.
So you go. You go to college and you become the best version of yourself and you make a career you are proud of. You do your job with passion and with care because, after all, you worked your whole life to get here. You did it! You made it.
What no one bothers to tell you is that once that little slobbery child comes along, the days become longer – oh my, how they drag. The working hours last longer than your home hours. No one tells you that sometimes you’ll cry in the mornings putting on your mascara because you’d rather snuggle and smell that sweet baby smell while you can. You start over on your mascara because it’s smeared everywhere and this is just a Monday.
No one bothers you to tell you that you will miss so much. No one warns the working momma that they will miss the first steps, the first words…You aren’t warned of these things and you cry, silently and alone, more nights than you'd wish and more instances than you'd ever admit.
Education is pushed upon us more and more and we struggle to become the mommas we want to be because we’re tied to careers we’re in debt to and chained to the jobs we worked so hard to get. Before them. We’re thankful for our jobs and we constantly defend them when someone says, without knowing, “I don’t know how you can work and be away from your babies.” They don’t know that those words are like a knife to you because you want to be a mom so much, but you also want to do your job. After all, you worked for twenty some odd years to get here. You can’t just throw it away.
No one tells you that you’ll miss school plays, award ceremonies, class crafts, and so much more because you are the one behind the scenes, caring for those who need you. No one tells you that you’ll be late for the Easter party because a patient needed you a little longer than expected and you so want to be good at your job too. You want to be the best you can be, at everything.
No one tells you that you’ll feel like you’re failing at everything. Your planner will burst with things for everyone else. Your life becomes one big mess of appointments and practices and work. You’ll look like you handle it all with grace and precision, but what nobody sees is that you are just like that duck, paddling ferociously under water just to stay afloat.
We working mommas have it tough – our minds in one spot and our hearts in the other. We try so hard not to miss a beat, not to miss an event, and not to make a mistake. We work and we mom the best we can. No one tells you how hard this is. No one warns you that there are days you wish you could just be mom. They tell you how quickly it goes, how fast your kids grow – what they fail to mention is how much you really do miss. You know your kids will be proud one day and you do hope you're teaching them to be the best they can be. So your cry and go on to tomorrow because you're mom, after all. You CAN do it all.
So you go. You go to college and you become the best version of yourself and you make a career you are proud of. You do your job with passion and with care because, after all, you worked your whole life to get here. You did it! You made it.
What no one bothers to tell you is that once that little slobbery child comes along, the days become longer – oh my, how they drag. The working hours last longer than your home hours. No one tells you that sometimes you’ll cry in the mornings putting on your mascara because you’d rather snuggle and smell that sweet baby smell while you can. You start over on your mascara because it’s smeared everywhere and this is just a Monday.
No one bothers you to tell you that you will miss so much. No one warns the working momma that they will miss the first steps, the first words…You aren’t warned of these things and you cry, silently and alone, more nights than you'd wish and more instances than you'd ever admit.
Education is pushed upon us more and more and we struggle to become the mommas we want to be because we’re tied to careers we’re in debt to and chained to the jobs we worked so hard to get. Before them. We’re thankful for our jobs and we constantly defend them when someone says, without knowing, “I don’t know how you can work and be away from your babies.” They don’t know that those words are like a knife to you because you want to be a mom so much, but you also want to do your job. After all, you worked for twenty some odd years to get here. You can’t just throw it away.
No one tells you that you’ll miss school plays, award ceremonies, class crafts, and so much more because you are the one behind the scenes, caring for those who need you. No one tells you that you’ll be late for the Easter party because a patient needed you a little longer than expected and you so want to be good at your job too. You want to be the best you can be, at everything.
No one tells you that you’ll feel like you’re failing at everything. Your planner will burst with things for everyone else. Your life becomes one big mess of appointments and practices and work. You’ll look like you handle it all with grace and precision, but what nobody sees is that you are just like that duck, paddling ferociously under water just to stay afloat.
We working mommas have it tough – our minds in one spot and our hearts in the other. We try so hard not to miss a beat, not to miss an event, and not to make a mistake. We work and we mom the best we can. No one tells you how hard this is. No one warns you that there are days you wish you could just be mom. They tell you how quickly it goes, how fast your kids grow – what they fail to mention is how much you really do miss. You know your kids will be proud one day and you do hope you're teaching them to be the best they can be. So your cry and go on to tomorrow because you're mom, after all. You CAN do it all.
Thursday, November 3, 2016
death
death is a weird concept to wrap your mind around. It's the moment someone stops living, breathing. The moment a heart stops. The moment their world stops.
And yet it leaves behind so much. When someone dies, they are not forgotten or left behind, but rather just not here.
And so begins the grieving.... the sadness.... the memories that have long been forgotten. You sift through old pictures and you cry. You remember old times and you cry. You wonder how time flew by so fast and you didn't make friendships a priority.
But that's life, isn't it?
Not knowing, not understanding, and never saying things until they're too late.
A dear friend of mine passed away. We were not terribly close in our older years, but I still greeted her with a hug, as she did me.. The last message she ever sent me was "I love you! We should have dinner sometime soon!"
And that sometime soon will never come.
For it doesn't matter whether we were close today or not, she was still a part of my life and a part of my memories. My awkward teenage years and growing up years are peppered with memories of she and I together, doing fun things and things we got in trouble for.
I will always miss her and I will always love her, the girl that looked like me, the girl that laughed like me, and the girl who always greeted me with a hug. I am so sad and heartbroken, to think of her passing away alone and depressed. She had the hardest year last year and I can't imagine how she felt. I should've asked. I should've been a better friend. You always think you'll have time to be a good friend and then it's gone... You imagine there are plenty days ahead of you, after all you're only 31. I guess it really doesn't matter. The world keeps spinning even if your world stops. Life happens around you even if you aren't ready.
Friendships fade even if you want to keep them going because life is just too damn fast with too many demands and the days past by so quickly that you forget to stop. You forget that you may not have a tomorrow. I used to write, I used to scrapbook -- haven't done it in years.
To my dear friend Cristi, I am sorry I was not there and I am sorry I did not message you to ask how your day was going or if you needed a friend. I am so sad to think that you died alone, grieving and to think how much a hug or a long talk could've made you feel better, if only for a second. I am so, so sorry and I am so, so thankful that you were my friend.
So, here's what I'm going to do -- stop putting it off, stop holding grudges, and I'm going to make plans with those I love because who knows? Death happens every day to every single one of us, whether it be at 31 or 91. We are all only this world for a short time -- let's not forget that. Let's stop thinking we have tomorrow.
Rest in peace, my dear friend. I love you.
And yet it leaves behind so much. When someone dies, they are not forgotten or left behind, but rather just not here.
And so begins the grieving.... the sadness.... the memories that have long been forgotten. You sift through old pictures and you cry. You remember old times and you cry. You wonder how time flew by so fast and you didn't make friendships a priority.
But that's life, isn't it?
Not knowing, not understanding, and never saying things until they're too late.
A dear friend of mine passed away. We were not terribly close in our older years, but I still greeted her with a hug, as she did me.. The last message she ever sent me was "I love you! We should have dinner sometime soon!"
And that sometime soon will never come.
For it doesn't matter whether we were close today or not, she was still a part of my life and a part of my memories. My awkward teenage years and growing up years are peppered with memories of she and I together, doing fun things and things we got in trouble for.
I will always miss her and I will always love her, the girl that looked like me, the girl that laughed like me, and the girl who always greeted me with a hug. I am so sad and heartbroken, to think of her passing away alone and depressed. She had the hardest year last year and I can't imagine how she felt. I should've asked. I should've been a better friend. You always think you'll have time to be a good friend and then it's gone... You imagine there are plenty days ahead of you, after all you're only 31. I guess it really doesn't matter. The world keeps spinning even if your world stops. Life happens around you even if you aren't ready.
Friendships fade even if you want to keep them going because life is just too damn fast with too many demands and the days past by so quickly that you forget to stop. You forget that you may not have a tomorrow. I used to write, I used to scrapbook -- haven't done it in years.
To my dear friend Cristi, I am sorry I was not there and I am sorry I did not message you to ask how your day was going or if you needed a friend. I am so sad to think that you died alone, grieving and to think how much a hug or a long talk could've made you feel better, if only for a second. I am so, so sorry and I am so, so thankful that you were my friend.
So, here's what I'm going to do -- stop putting it off, stop holding grudges, and I'm going to make plans with those I love because who knows? Death happens every day to every single one of us, whether it be at 31 or 91. We are all only this world for a short time -- let's not forget that. Let's stop thinking we have tomorrow.
Rest in peace, my dear friend. I love you.
Thursday, July 28, 2016
Do you ever feel like you still don't know what you want out of life? Like you're sitting on the outside, staring in, and wondering WTH this is?
I never knew my life would be here now. I always thought I'd just be a mommy to my kids and wife to my husband and here I am, caught up in my career and in my jobs, and doing a mediocre job at all of it. I never knew I'd be spread so thin that I wouldn't have time to do anything I enjoy anymore. I don't read because who has time? I don't watch movies because there are toilets to be cleaned and laundry to be folded and meals to be prepared.
I listened to music I thoroughly enjoyed yesterday, but only because I was working on tagging and hanging clothes...... key word being WORK. It's such a weird balance and maybe it's because I hate change or maybe it's because I still don't know what I want out of life, 31 years into it. I am just at a point where I feel stuck.
Drowning. Quicksand. Whatever you want to call it. Stuck.
I want so bad to be with my kids and so bad to provide for them at the same time. There are days I walk into work and just immediately contemplate turning right back around and going home and crawling in bed with my babies where I belong.
I am such a perfectionist that it's hard for me to half ass anything. I can't just do my job. I have to do it well. I can't just sell clothes. I have to sell many clothes and provide top notch customer service. I can't just clean house, I have to dissect it.... and yet, I somehow feel that I can't keep up with anything.
God.
I didn't know growing up was so hard. I just thought I'd have it figured out by now..... The people who are closest to me are the ones I distance myself from the most. It's easier to immerse myself in work than it is to face reality or face my fears. Why is that? I just wish I could close my eyes and solve it.
I had a dream the other night that I came home and our house had burned to the ground. I remember laying there for a moment without any feeling at all. I wondered what the dream meant and this is what I found: the person who has this dream is at a place of unrest. They are unsure and weighed down by the demand of their life.
Son of a gun - that's exactly how I feel. The person needs a "transformation, but isn't ready for change" Holy smokes. This is where I am in life. This. This black hole of unsureness, of unpreparedness, of uncertainty.
I never knew my life would be here now. I always thought I'd just be a mommy to my kids and wife to my husband and here I am, caught up in my career and in my jobs, and doing a mediocre job at all of it. I never knew I'd be spread so thin that I wouldn't have time to do anything I enjoy anymore. I don't read because who has time? I don't watch movies because there are toilets to be cleaned and laundry to be folded and meals to be prepared.
I listened to music I thoroughly enjoyed yesterday, but only because I was working on tagging and hanging clothes...... key word being WORK. It's such a weird balance and maybe it's because I hate change or maybe it's because I still don't know what I want out of life, 31 years into it. I am just at a point where I feel stuck.
Drowning. Quicksand. Whatever you want to call it. Stuck.
I want so bad to be with my kids and so bad to provide for them at the same time. There are days I walk into work and just immediately contemplate turning right back around and going home and crawling in bed with my babies where I belong.
I am such a perfectionist that it's hard for me to half ass anything. I can't just do my job. I have to do it well. I can't just sell clothes. I have to sell many clothes and provide top notch customer service. I can't just clean house, I have to dissect it.... and yet, I somehow feel that I can't keep up with anything.
God.
I didn't know growing up was so hard. I just thought I'd have it figured out by now..... The people who are closest to me are the ones I distance myself from the most. It's easier to immerse myself in work than it is to face reality or face my fears. Why is that? I just wish I could close my eyes and solve it.
I had a dream the other night that I came home and our house had burned to the ground. I remember laying there for a moment without any feeling at all. I wondered what the dream meant and this is what I found: the person who has this dream is at a place of unrest. They are unsure and weighed down by the demand of their life.
Son of a gun - that's exactly how I feel. The person needs a "transformation, but isn't ready for change" Holy smokes. This is where I am in life. This. This black hole of unsureness, of unpreparedness, of uncertainty.
Tuesday, March 1, 2016
To my husband
Hi sweetness,
It's me writing from work. The place where I can seem to think for a few minutes before the patients roll in and the demands begin. It never ends, does it? The constant demands from each corner of this thing called life.
I remember meeting you nearly twelve years ago. You were dirty and fresh from work and I took one look at you and knew I had to get to know you better. Knocking on your door a few days later was the best, most life altering decision I ever made. Fresh from high school heart break, I stood at your door broken, yet knowing that would soon end. You fixed me. You showed me what love really was.
I loved you from our very first date - we both drank tea and added two sugars. You held my hand on the drive home and played with the makeshift wire ring you made me at dinner. You were 20 and I was 19. And I knew.
We were inseparable. Our lives seamlessly intertwined and our days become full of each other. We laughed together, ate dinners of cereal and Ramen noodles, and just relished in our togetherness. I knew my future held you in it. I knew you'd be mine. I've had friends who have told me our relationship is inspiring and ask if we ever fight. Of course we do, but here's the secret - we also find solutions together.
We've been through a lot - years of living apart, sick kiddos, job changes. We've had happy and we've had sad, but we've always been a team.
I am hot-headed and quick to explode. You are calm and collected, looking and analyzing all options. Me - I ride it out. That is why we work so well together. I can look at you and know how much you love me, despite the stretch marks and dark circles. I can see how much you love our children - our beautiful, independent children - and know how much you love me.
I can see the hurt on your face when I come home at 9 pm after working for 13 straight hours. I know you feel bad that I've been at work this long. I want you to know that I am perfectly okay with the chaos that is my life, our life. I wouldn't change it for a minute.
Even after the worst day that is filled with demands I fall short of or to do lists I never get finished, that hug and kiss on the forehead at the end of the day are enough to get me going again. Those two small bodies wedged between us are enough to give me the motivation. You, my dear husband, you are always enough.
I love you so much. We have grown up together and we are as close as two people can get. I truly believe that God led me to you. You are steadfast and dedicated, passionate and sweet. The small things you do - coffee in the morning, kids freshly bathed - I may not say thank you enough, but those little things mean the world to me.
You and our kids mean the world to me. My life would not be the same without you. I adore you, Luke. Thank you for being you and for loving me no matter what. I love you.
It's me writing from work. The place where I can seem to think for a few minutes before the patients roll in and the demands begin. It never ends, does it? The constant demands from each corner of this thing called life.
I remember meeting you nearly twelve years ago. You were dirty and fresh from work and I took one look at you and knew I had to get to know you better. Knocking on your door a few days later was the best, most life altering decision I ever made. Fresh from high school heart break, I stood at your door broken, yet knowing that would soon end. You fixed me. You showed me what love really was.
I loved you from our very first date - we both drank tea and added two sugars. You held my hand on the drive home and played with the makeshift wire ring you made me at dinner. You were 20 and I was 19. And I knew.
We were inseparable. Our lives seamlessly intertwined and our days become full of each other. We laughed together, ate dinners of cereal and Ramen noodles, and just relished in our togetherness. I knew my future held you in it. I knew you'd be mine. I've had friends who have told me our relationship is inspiring and ask if we ever fight. Of course we do, but here's the secret - we also find solutions together.
We've been through a lot - years of living apart, sick kiddos, job changes. We've had happy and we've had sad, but we've always been a team.
I am hot-headed and quick to explode. You are calm and collected, looking and analyzing all options. Me - I ride it out. That is why we work so well together. I can look at you and know how much you love me, despite the stretch marks and dark circles. I can see how much you love our children - our beautiful, independent children - and know how much you love me.
I can see the hurt on your face when I come home at 9 pm after working for 13 straight hours. I know you feel bad that I've been at work this long. I want you to know that I am perfectly okay with the chaos that is my life, our life. I wouldn't change it for a minute.
Even after the worst day that is filled with demands I fall short of or to do lists I never get finished, that hug and kiss on the forehead at the end of the day are enough to get me going again. Those two small bodies wedged between us are enough to give me the motivation. You, my dear husband, you are always enough.
I love you so much. We have grown up together and we are as close as two people can get. I truly believe that God led me to you. You are steadfast and dedicated, passionate and sweet. The small things you do - coffee in the morning, kids freshly bathed - I may not say thank you enough, but those little things mean the world to me.
You and our kids mean the world to me. My life would not be the same without you. I adore you, Luke. Thank you for being you and for loving me no matter what. I love you.
Tuesday, June 23, 2015
Open Letter to Facebook
Dear Facebook,
I have been a user for years. Years before I had children, years before I was truly a grown up. I have posted my accomplishments, my failures, and my milestones within you. I have used you as an outlet to express myself and as venue to show of my children and my life. I have logged on faithfully, daily, really to check in on my world and my friends. I am disappointed in you.
My daily newsfeed is full of pictures - pictures of kids, of dogs, of foods. It's full of articles - about the state of the world, mommy wars, crimes stories, political outrage, rape stories, anything you can imagine. We allow others to express their opinions and their beliefs, yet your page has a terrible flaw. We also allow things to be reported anonymously. I have been flagged three times in the last 24 hours, twice for something ridiculous and once for something that was indeed inappropriate. All anonymously. All my someone who clearly has nothing better to do with their time.
The first picture was flagged twice:
Nudity. A four year old showing her back while riding her bike. Facebook did find this appropriate and let me keep it on my timeline; however, someone reported it yet again for nudity. Again, it was found appropriate. Let me throw this out there, Facebook - how about we start calling out those who report something that is truly appropriate when they say it isn't? I don't like seeing dying animals, abused children, or stories about Caitlyn Jenner, but I don't report them. It's not my job to censor the public. It's not my job to say what is or is not appropriate on someone else's personal page. If someone does report something that is truly appropriate and say it is inappropriate, you should contact the poster and let them know who this person is so that they can remove them from their friend's list. My profile is private, meaning someone on my list, who I think is my friend, found my child's back inappropriate. You should let me know who this is! It's a ridiculous policy on your end.
Meanwhile, I am scrolling my newsfeed and I see a girl half dressed showing her body transformation, a girl seductively making out with her better half, and an article about rape in a small town. And this is okay? You need better policies, Facebook, and better control of idiot reports such as mine. This is a headache and it's a shame. Or better yet, have a way for someone to contact you - perhaps where I can speak to a LIVE person instead of be redirected to a help center that is anything but helpful.
Sincerely,
ME
I have been a user for years. Years before I had children, years before I was truly a grown up. I have posted my accomplishments, my failures, and my milestones within you. I have used you as an outlet to express myself and as venue to show of my children and my life. I have logged on faithfully, daily, really to check in on my world and my friends. I am disappointed in you.
My daily newsfeed is full of pictures - pictures of kids, of dogs, of foods. It's full of articles - about the state of the world, mommy wars, crimes stories, political outrage, rape stories, anything you can imagine. We allow others to express their opinions and their beliefs, yet your page has a terrible flaw. We also allow things to be reported anonymously. I have been flagged three times in the last 24 hours, twice for something ridiculous and once for something that was indeed inappropriate. All anonymously. All my someone who clearly has nothing better to do with their time.
The first picture was flagged twice:
Meanwhile, I am scrolling my newsfeed and I see a girl half dressed showing her body transformation, a girl seductively making out with her better half, and an article about rape in a small town. And this is okay? You need better policies, Facebook, and better control of idiot reports such as mine. This is a headache and it's a shame. Or better yet, have a way for someone to contact you - perhaps where I can speak to a LIVE person instead of be redirected to a help center that is anything but helpful.
Sincerely,
ME
Tuesday, May 12, 2015
To My Son
My dearest Lawson,
I close my eyes and see your smile - that toothy smile and those big, round cheeks. Your green eyes are so full of life and happy. You are too pretty to be a boy, I've heard it a thousand times. And you are, my handsome son. A combination of your dad and I and a mix of our love for each other. Our son.
I didn't make a fancy book for your first birthday and I didn't chronicle every single milestone for you like I did for your sister. It's not because I love you less. It's not because you are not special. It's just the opposite.
It's because you, my second child, are enjoyed even more. It's a sad reality that it takes having a second baby to appreciate how fleeting that first year is. I was so wrapped up in taking pictures of everything Julianna did that I forgot to truly enjoy it. I wrote down every detail and I forgot to sit back and take it in. I sit with you and I breathe deeply and I smell that sweet baby smell of milk and sweat and lotion and I take it in - it is short lived and sweet. I feel your heavy head on my shoulder and your fingers in my hair and know it won't be this way long enough. You will not always cry when momma leaves the room and you won't always snuggle deeper into my chest. This, too, shall pass and too quickly at that.
You are my second child. You are likely my last. That in no way makes you less loved. I am sorry that I do not have the books and memories written down for you or your things neatly tucked away. You do not have shadow boxes or memory boxes or shutterfly books of everything.... but these little pieces of you are in my heart and tucked there safely. I honestly was unsure if I could love another child. And then you were born and opened up a new part of me I never knew existed. My heart grew even bigger and a new space developed just for you. My son. My baby boy.
I love you and your long eyelashes. I love your chubby thighs and your sweet sticky hands. Your drool and your milk breath. I love how you reach for me and no one else will do. I love when you sneak up the steps and laugh that you got away. Or how you get excited and throw both hands in the air. It's too cute when you point and so funny when you get mad.
It takes someone special to be a second baby and to roll with the punches. You are so good at it, sweet boy. So good. You don't care about the little things and I can just tell that you will be a gentle giant with a heart of gold and a man like your daddy. You will grow up kind and strong and respectful of women. You are special. I am so thankful for you and want you to know that you have changed me.... you have made me a new type of mother. An appreciative mother and one who doesn't sweat the small stuff. I love you. Always, my wild man. You are SO very loved. Thank you for choosing me to be your momma.
Thank you for the best year ever. You and your sister make my days worth living.
I close my eyes and see your smile - that toothy smile and those big, round cheeks. Your green eyes are so full of life and happy. You are too pretty to be a boy, I've heard it a thousand times. And you are, my handsome son. A combination of your dad and I and a mix of our love for each other. Our son.
I didn't make a fancy book for your first birthday and I didn't chronicle every single milestone for you like I did for your sister. It's not because I love you less. It's not because you are not special. It's just the opposite.
It's because you, my second child, are enjoyed even more. It's a sad reality that it takes having a second baby to appreciate how fleeting that first year is. I was so wrapped up in taking pictures of everything Julianna did that I forgot to truly enjoy it. I wrote down every detail and I forgot to sit back and take it in. I sit with you and I breathe deeply and I smell that sweet baby smell of milk and sweat and lotion and I take it in - it is short lived and sweet. I feel your heavy head on my shoulder and your fingers in my hair and know it won't be this way long enough. You will not always cry when momma leaves the room and you won't always snuggle deeper into my chest. This, too, shall pass and too quickly at that.
You are my second child. You are likely my last. That in no way makes you less loved. I am sorry that I do not have the books and memories written down for you or your things neatly tucked away. You do not have shadow boxes or memory boxes or shutterfly books of everything.... but these little pieces of you are in my heart and tucked there safely. I honestly was unsure if I could love another child. And then you were born and opened up a new part of me I never knew existed. My heart grew even bigger and a new space developed just for you. My son. My baby boy.
I love you and your long eyelashes. I love your chubby thighs and your sweet sticky hands. Your drool and your milk breath. I love how you reach for me and no one else will do. I love when you sneak up the steps and laugh that you got away. Or how you get excited and throw both hands in the air. It's too cute when you point and so funny when you get mad.
It takes someone special to be a second baby and to roll with the punches. You are so good at it, sweet boy. So good. You don't care about the little things and I can just tell that you will be a gentle giant with a heart of gold and a man like your daddy. You will grow up kind and strong and respectful of women. You are special. I am so thankful for you and want you to know that you have changed me.... you have made me a new type of mother. An appreciative mother and one who doesn't sweat the small stuff. I love you. Always, my wild man. You are SO very loved. Thank you for choosing me to be your momma.
Thank you for the best year ever. You and your sister make my days worth living.
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