Dear Max

Today you put on your shoe.

All by yourself.

Not your rainboots, that you slip your feet into with ease and then clomp around like a tiny herd of elephants.

Not your sandles, that you squeeze between your toes and slip the strap over your heel, always on the wrong foot.

Today you put on your tennis shoe.  All by yourself.  The one with the velcro strap that you have to undo and redo in just the right spot.

That one.

You did it.

Without me.  All by yourself.

You yelled, "Mommy!  Mommy!"  And I looked at your feet, knowing that there were no shoes there the last time I'd seen them.  I asked if you did it by yourself.

You said yes, and you asked if it made me happy.

And I said it made me very happy.

And I clapped.

And I smiled.

And then I hugged you.

And when I hugged you, I shed a tear.

Because I was happy.  And I was sad.  And I am feeling all of those things at the same time.

Being a mom is weird.

Yesterday you needed me to do everything for you.  Every little thing.

But today you put on your own shoe.

And I'm a mess.

You are going to be 3 in a few months.

3 years old

I remember when your dad and I celebrated our 3rd anniversary after we started dating.  I bought him a bunch of balloons and tied them to his motorcycle.  We had a big dinner and exchanged cards and presents.  It was a big deal.

Three years was a long time.

But, I swear, you were born yesterday.

How could you have been alive--in my life--for 3 whole years already?

No way.

That simply cannot be.

Yesterday I finagled those froggy newborn arms and legs into impossibly tiny outfits, and today you are putting on your own shoe.

How do these things happen?!?

Breathe, momma, breathe.


I need to slow down.

I need to freeze this moment in time for just a little bit.


Because I want to need to remember the way that you...

...say "Mommy!  Mommy!  Hurry!  Hurry!"  when you are excited.

...and say "Mommmyyy..."  all long and drawn out when you make a new discovery.

And I don't want to forget how you...

...put your head down and say "Oh man..." when you find out that things aren't going your way.

...hold my hand when we walk across a parking lot.

...insist on opening the door to walk into the garage all by yourself.

...turn everything into a ramp for your cars.

...make me "breakfast" in your kitchen.

You seem to think I love cupcakes and tea.

...ask if Daddy is home whenever we pull into the driveway.

...lay on the floor...or your bed...or the couch...or anywhere to "look at pictures" in your books.

...shout "Good morning, Mason!" when your brother wakes up from a nap.

...stick out your tongue just a tiny bit when you concentrate.

How much longer will you...

...say "my" instead of "I" ("My did it!")?

I can't bring myself to tell you that you are saying it wrong.

...raise your voice to a tiny squeak when you say something is "tiny little"?

...ask what that sound is?  And that sound?  And that sound?

When did you stop saying "sound noise" and start just saying "sound"?

When did you learn to say it like everyone else?

Why didn't I notice that change?

...ride "zoom!  fast!" on your motorcycle up and down the hallway?

...tell me that you're sorry and that you "lub" me?

...look so sad and conflicted when you know you've done something that you shouldn't have?

...remind me to pray before we eat or see an ambulance or feel sad?

...ask me to hold your hand when you have a hard time falling asleep?

As I write this list I am struck by how many of my memories are noted by your words. Your simple, sweet words.  

When did you start talking?  Or saying sentences?

I swear it was yesterday that I thought you'd go to kindergarten saying only the word "dis"...

I should be going now.  

You're putting on your other shoe, and I wouldn't miss it for the world.

Love always,

Mom

Things to remember

Maybe it was the pregnancy hormones, or maybe it was exhaustion after a day of lots of back pain, or maybe it was just good 'ole maternal nostalgia...but for whatever reason, I  broke down into tears last night.  Several times.  That hasn't happened in a while, but I have to say that it felt kind of good.  Amidst the chaos of WAHM-dom, I sometimes forget to just take a step back and marvel at this amazing thing of motherhood.  It really is a beautiful thing that sometimes grabs me so hard I can barely breathe.  That was last night.

I was thinking about how fast the past two years have gone.  I am just a few weeks away from welcoming my next baby boy into this world, but it feels like only yesterday that my 22 month old was the one kicking and wiggling inside of me.  Words can't even describe how excited I am to meet this next little boy, but I am also a little bit sad that I won't be able to focus so much of my time just on Max.  If you haven't met him, he's a pretty spectacular kid!  I know that soon I will barely even remember what life was like when we only had one son to clothe and feed and pray with.  I know that I will love this next little boy just as much, and that I will want to squeeze him so tight and never let go, too.  I know that my heart will grow and our family will be even more filled with love when this next baby comes.

But for now, I want to try to lock a place in my brain just for these precious memories of life as a family of three.

I want to remember how Max calls, "Mama!" and runs to me as fast as he can every time I pick him up from the gym.

I want to remember how he sweetly says, "Hi," when he wanders out of bed because he can't sleep.

I want to remember how it feels when his head nestles on my shoulder as we read stories.

I want to remember how he curls himself around my swollen belly when I rock him to sleep.

I want to remember the moments when he lets me rock him to sleep.

I want to remember how he furrows his brow when he's thinking really hard about something.

I want to remember how he scrunches his eyes together when he's trying to learn a new concept (like how "I don't know" means something different than "no no.")

I want to remember how he "scares" me by jumping out and shouting "Boo!"

I want to remember the sweet, sugary sound of his voice when he says, "Bubble?  Bubble?  Bubble?"  (Nearly always sounding like a question on repeat!)

I want to remember how I can gradually feel his skin losing its baby softness and gaining its little boy firmness.

I want to remember how he shouts "Whoa!" every time he goes down a slide or scoots on a scooter.

I want to remember how blue his eyes look first thing in the morning.

I want to remember that sometimes all he needs is a touch from me to feel all better.

I want to remember how he asks to pray before eating a snack, even if it's a cup of pretzels in the car.

I want to remember how his feet seem to fly sideways when he starts running really fast.

I want to remember the way he stands so still if he gets to have his hair cut.

I want to remember how he always wants to know where the cats are and if they are sleeping.

I want to remember how he signs "thank you" if he wants me to give him something.

I want to remember how he excitedly signs "All done!" when the cats open their eyes after he finds them napping peacefully.

I want to remember that some days it was hard to just make it to lunch time, and then to dinner, and then to bed time.  I want to remember that not every day was fun and happy.  (Those hard times make the good times that much sweeter.)

I want to remember that it is okay that I don't have all of these things on video or in photos because I was too busy living in the moment to find a camera.


There are so many things I want to remember, but I know I will forget a lot of them.  And that is okay, too, because I have a lifetime of more memories to come that will be just as sweet and cherished.