Resolutions

In 2013, I resolve to balance out the holiday calendar by spending some time each day remembering to bring forth the following:

- The gratitude and grace of Thanksgiving;
- The peace and joy of Christmas; and
- The promise and excitement of New Years.

Oh, and I'm gonna spend some time dressing up and eating candy to keep Halloween alive, too.

Dear Sadie

Dearest Sadie,

You are starting to rock on all fours. You hesitate a bit before putting one hand out. Your knees slide. You’re flat on your belly again. You look around, slightly confused but still thrilled at the progress you’ve made. I help prop you back up. I use my hands to move your knees and show you the motions. Again and again.

Everyone says, “Oh no, I wouldn’t be so quick to encourage her. Next thing you know, she’ll be into everything and you’ll have to chase her all around.” They said the same thing when Carter was your age.

In a way, they are right. I remember the frustration and the panic brought on by a crawling baby. There's the moment you’ve gone ‘round the corner -- headed for the kitchen knives I’m sure -- and I’m stuck sitting on the toilet with my pants around my ankles. Then there's the day you find the dog’s water bowl. And after that, you and your brother conspire to hunt under the couch for small objects to choke on. You’ll pause just a moment to gleefully stare at me (your brother will smirk, I'm sure) before shoving pennies into your mouths with bold delight.

And there are moments when I realize how fast the last six months have gone by and I am paralyzed by the realization that I can’t slow time down. That I’m not going to remember it all. That I’m not “present” enough. That I miss the small details, that I lose my patience. That I will never ever be able to hold you again at this age. That the person you are right now -- the very simple, very smiley, very content little person -- will disappear and even though she will be supplanted by a wonderfully curious and imaginative little girl, I will never ever get to talk to that person again. It’s an odd feeling: I miss you so much it hurts, yet here you are, in my arms.

But in the more important sense, the principle that guides me as a mother, those well-meaning mothers who warn me against encouraging you to crawl are all very wrong. Motherhood doesn’t get easier when the baby sleeps through the night, and it doesn’t get harder when the baby can toddle from room to room. The baby grows up and it just gets different. 

So I will continue to prop you up on your knees and clap my hands when you scoot forward. I will encourage your brother to climb the ladder at the playground (the one signed “5 and up” for all the sue-happy moms and dads). I will buy exotic foods at the supermarket that scare my taste buds but seem to please yours. (Kiwi totally counts as exotic, right?) And I will try to remember to breathe when you decide you want to sign up for ice hockey instead of ballet.

But this letter shouldn’t be about me (I realize now I have been doing that all along) – it should be about you! So, here are a few things you should know about yourself at this age:

• You remain the happiest baby we know. You cry to let us know you are awake, and by the time we’ve opened your bedroom door, you are smiling and cooing. If you seem upset and I can’t find a toy to distract you, I smile. You can’t bear to have someone smiling at you and not smile back.  
• You love to eat. At 18 pounds and 13 ounces, this surprises no one. Your favorite foods? Avocado, sweet potato and Cheerios. Dislikes? Cucumber.
• You are extremely well balanced for a baby your size. You love to sit and stand (while holding something, of course). But unlike your brother, you have no desire to shake or wiggle or move. Dr. Rathke was very impressed at your last appointment.
• “This is wonderful! She’s very stable. When did she start sitting?"
• “A little before five months.”
• “And when did she start rolling?”
• “…she hasn’t.”
• “Not ever?”
• “Not once.”
• “How odd."

 (And that was the end of that conversation. I told you Dr. Rathke is kind of like that.)

• You are marvelously independent.  In the morning, I sit you down on the carpet, surrounded by a few toys, and you will remain content for almost an hour. I pitter and patter about the house, your brother runs wild and crazy, and there you are, calmly chewing on your board book. It’s a beautiful sight.
• You are perfect.