Stopping time

Dear Lucy,

Today you are 24 months and 24 days old.  I went to an open house for a Parent's Morning Out/preschool type thing to see if we were interested in enrolling you in the fall.  I know it was just for a one day a week type thing, but it made me feel like you were very grown up already and I was looking at schools, etc.  Sometimes I feel like time is rushing past me and that you will be five and ten and twenty-one before I know it.  Other days it feels like you can't grow up fast enough because I have so many exciting things I want to do with you when you are old enough.  But just for today, just for now, here are some random tidbits about you that I love so much and that make me want to stop time.

The way you slip your little hand into mine while we pray at bedtime.

How you get SO excited to rush into Ian's room the very second you hear him wake up.

I'm amazed at how you connect things we've talked about and some things we've never really discussed ... like how the fire trucks on Ian's onesie are the same ones you see occasionally and you knew they made the same siren sound, which you are great at demonstrating.

I love how you persist in saying "hold you" when you want to be held, even though we always tell you it's "hold me".

How you trust me and you like to walk with me and hold my hand.  Even when Mommy can't find the right building and I make you walk all over creation, you sweetly just held my hand and walked beside me like such a big girl with no complaints.

You have such a caring heart, my baby girl.  You get very concerned when other babies or kids cry, especially Ian.  Likewise you love to see other babies and kids smile, and you really just love babies.

You are funny and you love to share. You are observant and exuberant.  You love to read and you love to count things (except you only know "1, 2..." so you just say "1, 2, 1, 2" over and over).  I'm so happy you're mine, Lucy Frances, and I know your Daddy would say the same thing.

I love you,
Mommy

Letters to my daughter

I know that a lot of parents write letters to their children starting when they are very young. We haven't really done that for Lucy, but I thought maybe I would use this blog to pen a note to her when the inspiration strikes me. They are intended for her to read when she grows up, but I hope they inspire you to do the same for your children (or for a friend, or another member of your family, etc.)

Dear Lucy,

I really should have started writing you letters a long time ago. You haven't been in our lives all that long, relatively speaking, but I feel that I've already missed out on the chance to write down all the things I would tell you if you could really understand. I know there's no time like the present, though, so I thought I would start tonight.

(full disclosure: I was inspired to do this by a Google Chrome commercial where a dad writes his daughter e-mails that she can read when she gets older. I can't take the credit for the motivation.)

I would play catch up, but you're just 2 days shy of being 18 months old, and 18 months is a long time to go without writing someone a letter. So let's just pretend that we've already caught up. I think you're a gift, a wonderful precocious treasure that God decided to give to us. Everyday, multiple times a day, you do something that makes me immeasurably glad that God picked me to be your mommy. When I'm putting you to bed at night, that's all I can ever remember. I know I have to get on to you a lot during the day, too, and you do things that frustrate me and stress me out, but I can't ever seem to remember those things when I'm cuddling you and singing "I Love You, Lord" or "Edelweiss" to you as your big blue eyes start to close for bedtime. (Don't ask me why those two songs are the ones I've continually sung to you ... they just stuck. One is a love song to God, the other is a love song for the country of Austria that's in the musical The Sound of Music. Go figure.)

Tonight, and for the past few nights, I've rocked you and cuddled you, but not for as long as I used to have to. You see, it used to take a really long time to get you to go to sleep at night. You had to be completely and limply asleep before I would gingerly place you in your crib while trying not to wake you. Then I would try to make it out of your room before you realized I had put you down. I used to wish for the day that I could just lay you in your bed and say goodnight and leave the room. They say be careful what you wish for. They're right.

Now I can cuddle you if I want to (I do), or sing to you if I want to (I usually do), and I always pray over you and rub your back, but when I put you in your crib, you are always completely awake. I rub your back in your bed for a few minutes, and I always say, "Sweet dreams, baby. Night night." And now ... now you are old enough that you say, "Night night" back to me in the sweetest baby voice. When you said it tonight, I started crying before I was even out of the room. I cried because you say it with a little hint of independence in your voice. You say it like, "Night night, mommy, you can leave now, I'm okay." It makes me extremely happy and extremely sad at the same time. I'm happy because it's so cute, and I love that we can communicate better and better every day. I'm sad because I know you're getting older and every night I say "Night night" to you and hear you say it back is one night closer to you being a grownup.

(It might be important to mention, in case you forget the timeline later in life, Lucy, that I'm 33.5 weeks pregnant with your brother Ian, so almost everything makes me cry these days.)

For now, though, I'll focus on the fact that you still need help with a great number of things on a daily basis, and I'll celebrate those things, and not look at them as hindrances. I'll celebrate your independence, too, and not see them as threats to my role in your life.

I love you, Lucybird.

Love,

Mommy