dear maddox//three years

Dear Maddox,

Happy, happy birthday, my sweet baby love. Today you are three. Today you have lived on this earth for one thousand and ninety five days, each one more perfect and precious than the last. As we have neared closer to your birthday, I have wondered just how we've gotten here so fast already; yet I've given so much thanks for everything about you. I couldn't have imagined how much you would grow up in these past few weeks before three and even though you don't age all at once when you land on your birthday, I feel that in some ways you've done just that. But maybe that's just God's way of saying that three is going to be okay. It will be more than okay, I am sure of it; but we'll give my fragile mama heart a little break today.

I hold great hopes for you, sweet boy. I know that today you are three but you're teetering on the edge of your childhood, about to embark on your greatest adventure. I want you to be brave, be kind, be thankful, be adventurous, be courageous, be compassionate. Be all of the things that will propel you into a life worth living. Here you are at three, which sounded so old and independent when you were freshly born. I must have thought the number wrong, because the days before three are nothing like I expected. You're still asking me to cuddle you and rock you good night and rub your back and sing your song to you. Sometimes you crawl into my lap and say, "Mama? I need you." and every time that you do, my heart could not possibly hold any more love for you, but it does anyway and I marvel at the fact that my body carried something so wonderful and so precious and still holds half of my heart, while the other half beats outside my body.

It's been a lifetime of seconds since you were born. And another lifetime will pass between this moment and your birthday. You will grow older and I'll cry a little and take five thousand pictures to remember these moments forever. Your forever uncut, unkempt, unruly hair. The way you call a "hood" a "hook" and the "TV" the "TP" and it's a "basketball hoot" and you still can't say your "c's" or your "k's" and sometimes you call us "Dan" and "Mamba." I'll take everything, even when you repeat the cuss words we let slip or ask me why that man is in the woman's bathroom. I'll take the tiny bite marks in all the apples in the fridge and the sharing of three cuties between you and I when we watch TV. I'll take the hardened chunk of playdoh that will never come out of the carpet and the blue stripe of chalk on my livingroom wall. I'll take toys on the floor and the books spread out in your room and the mountains of laundry and your itty bitty washcloths in every load and your socks in every corner of the house except for a complete set anywhere and half-full glasses of water in every room and calls from your room every night for one more kiss and one more story and the need to tell me one more question, as you say.

I can't remember not being a mom, the moments before my heart was split in two and fused to yours. I can't remember the moments before you, even though they're right there but I can't completely remember them. You consume me and nothing is a match for my love for you. Sometimes I feel like my heart can't contain this kind of love because until you have your own child, you can't possibly know. And it surprises me every single day and I think that tomorrow or next week or next time you throw a temper tantrum I won't be surprised by this kind of far-reaching love that seeps into every fiber of my being and covers even the deepest, darkest parts of life. But I am. Every single time it surprises me and awakens me.

These are the moments that I know I'll miss this the most, this sacred ground we stand on. These moments are fleeting and I'll hold onto them tightly as I gently release you into three and then four and on and on until I'm only left with the memories of these best years, where my heart has burst a thousand times over.

I will forever be turned inside out, because you are my son.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

mama

ten things

Ten things that are my favorite about him right now.

1. "Bless you, mama."

2. "Otay."

3. When he asks, "Daddy here?' when he wakes up in the morning or from his nap.

4. Before we went to Guatemala we sat outside on our patio and ate dinner and I said, "Maddox, isn't it so nice outside?" He responded, "Windy? Nope."

5. His curls.

6. "Yuv yoo, mama. Yuv yoo, daddy."

7. "Maddox, can you tell me your ABC's?" "A, B, C, G, H, F!"

8. "Let's water the flowers. The flowers are thirsty." "I thirsty, too."

9. How he says, "tanks," after everything.

10. The way he loves to be "held like a baby" after his bath.

The goodness (5)

My sweetest photographer-in-training snapped this picture of Evan and I on our last family photog outing. Admittedly, it's not the best idea to let my two-year-old handle my very expensive and heavy camera baby. But the joy it brings him is mostly worth it. And so we neck strap him in and let him go to town. We jumped into what we assumed was his line of vision, no telling really since he can't even lift the thing to his face, and this is what we got. If you're wondering if I framed it and hung it on my wall, the answer is a resounding yes. I'm not even mad that it's blurry. It's probably my favorite picture ever.

Happy Mother's Day

A thousand lifetimes over, I would not have this life any other way. It wasn't planned like this. My type-A personality had my life goals set in stone and displayed for all to see. Because the second you have a semi-serious boyfriend the questions begin. And they never stop and I felt the need to preach my plans to make sure everyone knew what they were and how I would live my life. And then you came. A wildly anticipated moment of fear and doubt and your tiny beating heart opened my eyes to ways I never knew I could love another person. And every single day with you is an adventure from the moment you yell at me to come pluck you out of your crib, to the moment I lay you back down at night (and really the moment I hear you finally quiet after many minutes of reading and singing to yourself). I feel celebrated every single day because I am your mama. The surprise kisses and the constant affection you show me, make me feel like the most important person in your world. I celebrate you, my littlest love, because you made me a mama and you make my heart beat like this.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

Happy Mother's Day to all mamas. You are important and you are needed. Let's celebrate our duty to love the tiny humans and make this world a better place.

turning two

In a few weeks, you'll be two. You'll be at the age of exploration and adventure, the age that everyone has nothing good to say about it. But I will sing its praises because two will not be much different than one year, eleven months and two weeks. You might grow another inch or four in the next sixteen-days but you'll still be that smiling boy who thinks that the tripod is a microphone. Who screams "FRENCH FRIES" at the top of his lungs. Who cannot leave the house without a hat on his head. Who prefers to wear the hat a little to the side and slightly crooked. You'll be the bossy boy who insists I wear socks AND shoes around the house. You'll still insist that I take a bath instead of you and repeatedly say, "Mama's. Mama's. Mama's." when I ask if you're ready for a bath. You'll be independent as you sit at the table and spoon your food into your mouth and eat everything from your plate and half of mine as well. You'll still be trying to con me into giving you six gallons of orange juice a day, looking at me like you've just had the most brilliant idea and then saying, "Juice." as you take my hand and pull me to the fridge. You'll do it with fruit snacks too, which I hope in two weeks you'll still be calling, "soot sacks," and wrinkling your nose as you do. You're going to be two and you'll probably still call it "four," as you hold ten fingers out to anyone who asks how old you are. You'll still be trying to figure out how to put your shoes on by yourself and you'll probably still run away when I ask if I can help you. You'll surely still be coloring with chalk on the dog's kennel and I'm sure I'll find some rogue chalk picture on my walls and on the back of my beige couch. You'll still be insisting that the dog get roughly 45 bones a day. And while I'll be the only protesting this situation, I've noticed that you're now tall enough to reach the treats shelf in the closet and there's really nothing stopping you from giving the dog as many bones as both of you want, while you say, "Sih! Sih!" telling her to "sit," which also often comes across as a four-letter curse that breaks us out into laughter that we cannot contain. You'll still be working on your ABC's and counting to ten and I probably won't correct you when you say "yights" because I love how you talk. You'll probably still have those mornings like the one we had the other day, the one that was filled with you running through the house and screaming at the top of your lungs whenever I looked at you. You'll probably still take bathes that leave more water on my tile floor than in the bath itself. I'll probably still be threatening to take away all of your bath toys, too. You'll probably still insist on taking a minimum of 25 books to bed with you each night and we'll still hear you reading yourself to sleep. You'll probably still wake up at seven thirty on the dot and you'll probably still want eggs every morning for breakfast. I'll definitely love you more then than I do now, in some impossible way that makes my heart grow bigger and more full of love for you every moment of every day. I'll still be praying for more patience so that when you are screaming at me and pushing me out of the room and slamming your bedroom door in my face like a mini teenager, I'll be slow to anger and rich in love. You're going to wake up one morning and you'll be two and it won't even feel any different because of this (not-so?) gradual escalating movement you have made from a helpless newborn to a not-even-walking one-year-old to a running and laughing and talking two-year-old. My heart will probably explode one hundred times at least on your birthday, just like it does every single day, but on that day especially because you will forever be my first baby, my first little love, my first son. And I'm so thankful that you are mine.

Fortunate

The first time I ever said your name outloud to anyone other than your dad, was to the anesthesiologist as he was spreading sticky iodine onto my spine in preparation for my epidural. I curled myself over you in my belly and he distracted me by telling me stories about his wife and her childbirth and I distracted myself with pressing the balls of my feet into your dad's feet as hard as I could. He asked me what you were and I told him you were still a surprise. He asked me your name and I said, "If we have a boy, his name will be Maddox Oliver."

I hesitated for a moment because there it was, out in the open. I didn't even tell my closest friends who had actually begged and pleaded with me over their drinks and my iced tea and our appetizers at our favorite restaurant. We didn't tell our parents or our brothers. We didn't tell a single person what your name would be.

You were mine first, this tiny little soul that inhabited the spot just below my heart. I wanted to keep you there forever where I could keep you safe and protect you from everything that life would throw your way. Instead you were born, a perfect seven pounds, three ounces and I held your tightly bundled body against mine and forgot the rest of the world for a few perfect moments.

That seems like a lifetime ago. It seems like a dream that those soft newborn onesies were once too big for you. I remember the first day that your dad went back to work and I spent the day sending him pictures of you, of your feet, of your sleeping smiles. Now I send him texts about how you're suddenly walking down the stairs by yourself and running into things and when you've fallen asleep on me. We reminisce on your newborn days and wonder where all of that time went and whisper prayers of thanksgiving for all of it.

Your name means "fortunate," but I think we're the fortunate ones. We're so blessed by you. By your laugh and smile and mischievous grins. We've never heard so many compliments given as are given to you. You deserve every single one of them because you are sweet and kind and friendly and you really do have the purest and kindest and prettiest eyes. You've changed our lives in a million ways and every single day we discover something new about you and we look at each other and know that our life is perfect. Your toys may cover the floor and you may empty all kitchen cabinets and drawers of their contents five times daily and you might pee on the bath mat every night before your bath and you might go through an absurd amount of diapers some days but we love every single thing about you. We are richly blessed and we are fortunate.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

[Untitled]

Maddox threw a sippy cup at my face tonight.

This happened within minutes of me misjudging the distance from me to the wall and accidentally kicking the wall as I walked into the bathroom. You know when you accidentally run into something and it knocks the wind right out of you and it feels like your heart stops for a second or two and all you can feel is the excruciating pain in your [body part]? THAT.

And then that again a few minutes later when the rouge sippy cup hit me in the eye.

I know for a fact that there was no maliciousness involved in the throwing of the cup. I was just too close and that kid has an arm on him. I always say that I want him to be a baseball player. This is just that coming to fruition in the form of hard plastic being flung at my face at warp speed.

I cannot emphasize enough how sweet this boy is. He has his moments where he comes at my face with his teeth baring and his hands wrapped around most of my hair and I'm simultaneously trying to get away from the teeth and also trying to pry myself free and it's not working because he is strong and fast and that's a dangerous combo when it comes to biting. I don't want him to be a biter because I was a biter and after I bit all my cousins they took turns throwing hay bales on top of me and locking me in closets and collectively taking karma into their own hands. And I do not want that for him.

So I'm trying to teach him manners and to be nice and to not hit or throw and to play nice and be kind. There is a giant list that I have made up in my mind and I repeat all the live long day because of the short-term memories that toddlers seem to have when it comes to anything that doesn't involve cookies. But above all I'm teaching him to love.

Throwing a sippy cup at my face isn't love.

As I sat there in stunned silence for a second, I had to react. Through my tears (it freaking hurt, man.) I explained that that wasn't very nice and that really hurt mama...as the child was squirming out of my arms and screaming at me, turning his body into a limp noodle.

Parenting isn't the easiest thing I've ever done, I'd say. There are times when reasoning with a tiny human who doesn't understand words and who can't talk back and who is only signing "more please" a hundred thousand times isn't on the top of the things I want to do at that moment. In fact, after hearing his whine and the temper tantrums he now throws when I ask him to say please or when I tell him no (slapping his hands on the floor and putting his forehead on the ground), it would just be easier to give in.

But I'm choosing love.

I'm choosing love when it would be easier to choose anger or judgement or retribution. I'm choosing love when it would be easier to give in because there is no such thing as reasoning or explaining why. I'm choosing love when it comes to co-parenting because Evan and I disagree about spankings. I'm choosing love when it comes to everything about this baby boy because I want him to always choose love even when it's not the easiest or the funnest or the coolest option. I want him to always choose love because I can guarantee that it's the best option.

And so that's what I'm doing. When I run into the wall and when sippy cups are thrown at my face and all I want to do is scream profanities at the top of my lungs for a good, straight five minutes, I'm going to choose love and forgiveness (also forgiving myself for being a klutz and also thinking I can walk through the house in the dark).

Because I'm safe

I was writing a thank you card. It was the kind of thank you card that is more than just thank you and sort of requires some deep concentration so you don't say the same thing over and over again. I was in my groove and so of course that was the moment that Maddox decided that he could no longer play on the floor by himself and that he needed to be picked up and picked up now. He's learned that he can practically climb my legs. He hugs them and pulls on them and cries and whines and begs to be picked up. And I suck at resisting.

It was during this exact thank you card writing session that I was just annoyed. Couldn't he see that I was busy? Couldn't he see that if he left me alone for exactly one minute I could finish the card and then pick him up? Why couldn't he understand when I told him, "One minute, Maddox. Just one more minute."?

I finished my thank you with an increasingly upset child pulling on me and throwing the ugliest temper tantrum just to be picked up (to which he promptly wanted to be put down again).  I do have a lot of patience when it comes to Maddox. Which is surprising to me because I don't have any patience for anyone else when it comes to anything. There are just these moments when I need another second to finish my project and if he would just hang tight for that one second I could be all his. But just exactly how do you explain that to a fifteen-month-old (< WHAT, by the way.)?

And that same night while Evan was showering I had the urge to go peek in Maddox's room and kiss him goodnight. I try to keep this sneaking to a minimum because his door and the floors in front of his room and into his room are absolutely the loudest, creakiest in our entire house, but obviously only when he's asleep. And so, I opened the door as quietly as I could and tiptoed over to the crib. And Maddox heard me. He sat up and then stood up without making a sound. I picked him up and took him to the rocking chair and rocked him while Evan finished his shower. Maddox laid his head on my shoulder and didn't fall back asleep but we both laid there in this unspoken understanding that we wouldn't say a word, lest the moment be broken. And we stayed like that for another fifteen minutes, just rocking back and forth and rubbing his back and kissing the top of his head. Prayers of thankfulness escaped my lips because I have no other action when I'm holding his quiet body than to just say THANK YOU, thank you for these moments, this baby.

And as I sat there basking in the moment of a quiet baby who was letting me cuddle him for longer than ten seconds, I just thought about how this is it. These are the last days of this. In the blink of an eye he won't need me anymore. Long gone will be the days where I'm his best friend and the most important person in his life. Sometimes when someone who isn't me holds him he immediately reaches back to me because I'm safe. Soon I won't be his safe place and he'll be growing up and making his own safe places.

And in that moment I realized what a blessing all the interruptions are. Each moment I ignore his cries to be picked up (even when he just wants to be picked up for three seconds) is another moment I won't get back. I'm not trying to be depressing or the type of mom who hates thinking about the future. Because I was for a long time and I've seen the future and the future is good. Good things happen when babies grow up from being a newborn. What I am doing is putting down the distractions--the phone, the computer, the book, the chores, the whatever--and being there, being present for him so that I can soak up these moments for all they're worth while he is still offering them.

Big boy status

I finally broke down and moved Maddox to the big boy bath this week. He was getting too rambunctious for my kitchen sink and I was tired of mopping up buckets of water after every bath. And so, I plopped Maddox into the tub a few nights ago. I got him lots of bath-friendly toys--because he took his first real tub bath while we were on vacation in Denver and all he wanted to do was stand up and play with the faucet and toiletries--and sat on the floor while he played in the water to his heart's content.

This little baby has gone from sponge baths to baby tub baths to bathroom sink to kitchen sink to showers to the big tub. It's like this tangible, very real thing that I can look at and be amazed that this 20-some pound baby used to fit in our teeny tiny bathroom sink or that he ever was so small to be propped up on pillows while we sponged him down and he cried in protest.

I never knew that a year could feel like a hundred years until I spent it watching this baby become a toddler. Life with a baby seems like ages upon eons ago. Life is a whirlwind and it's loud and beautiful and messy and foggy and perfect all at once.

Motherhood//mother's day

The best part of me lies in a white slatted crib one room over. I tip toe through the house and try to contain myself to one room to not disturb him. They tell you to not do that. They tell you that if you're quiet then babies will be sensitive to noise and be horrible sleepers. They tell you a lot of things, a lot of things that can make you feel bad about yourself if you're not careful about it. They tell you not to rock them to sleep because then they become dependent on you to fall asleep. They don't tell you that the amount of time that they will let you rock them to sleep is faster than an infant's heartbeat and if you don't rock them to sleep then you will wonder where those naps and nights went and you'll be left with thirty one inches of baby who prefers sprawling out to cuddling close. (Good thing I rocked him to sleep all of those times.) And they'll tell you to never wake a sleeping baby but your husband will tell you that there is nothing more important than cuddling your baby at any time of the night. And that is why he will sometimes wake up to find me tip toeing into the nursery and carefully pulling the sleeping baby from the tangle of blankets and into my arms and wrapping myself around him in the rocking chair while I just hold his sleep warmed body for a few extra minutes.

The only truths they'll tell you is how you'll never be prepared for this. I stopped listening to their advice when I realized that I had a mother's intuition. I had this burning inside of me that woke me up to listen to Maddox's breathing as he coocooned himself in his swaddle. I felt it when he was a few days old and I couldn't bear to put him down for even a heartbeat. I feel it in the last moments of his nap when I feel him stirring and then sure enough he calls for me and cries until I carefully open the door of his room and see a standing boy reaching out his arms for his mama.

They were right. There isn't anything that could prepare me for those moments or the ones to come. They say that a child is your heart beating outside your body and they are right. I've experienced the unconditional love that comes with your flesh and blood and the pure thankfulness and joy that accompanies every smile, every laugh, every hug and every open-mouth kiss. I've experienced it and if they are only right about one thing, they were right about that.

Happy Mother's Day to all the mama's. May you feel loved and appreciated and cared for today and every day.

a letter to a year ago

I keep having this vision in my mind of going back to a year ago and telling my very pregnant self to be patient and enjoy each and every moment. Who knew that a year could come and go so quickly? Certainly not me; not me at all. I would go back and tell myself that this baby will come in the blink of an eye. And before you blink again that little seven pound three ounce baby with the skinniest but strongest legs and healthiest pair of lungs and eyes the color of storm clouds will suddenly be turning a whole year old and you will be laying in bed at night wondering how that is even possible. You will watch him climb up and down the stairs like it is the World's Best Jungle Gym and you will wonder how you ever held a quiet infant who could sort of hold his head up but it mostly bobbled and who couldn't roll over and took his time learning to sit up and crawl and refuses to stand unless he's got a death grip on something and knew nothing of this moving and talking and smiling and laughing baby. You won't remember life before him, or even what life was like yesterday because not only is everything happening in record time but each new phase, each new learned thing will leave such an imprint on your heart that it will be nearly impossible to remember the last new thing. They're still there; you just need to look extra hard to find them.

And thank God for the pictures. Thank God you never deleted any of them, even the blurry ones. Even the ones where your snap-happy husband took 15 of the same picture, you kept them all because you are one of those moms who has an unhealthy obsession with every single picture of her son. But thank God for those pictures because maybe your friend sends you one you forgot about that makes your heart skip a beat when you see the face of your hour-old son wrapped up in that white blanket with that gigantic red knit cap on his head. Your heart will skip a beat and you will be back in that hospital bed with your family surrounding you as your own mom holds her brand new grandson and even though you can't remember the specifics, you can remember those moments and that is just enough.

And then you're back to the now with a baby who is becoming quite the toddler who is asleep in his crib on his tummy with his bum in the air. If I could go back to a year ago when I was waking up every three hours to feed that hungry boy, I would assure myself that he will sleep through the night. And even though those feedings sometimes feel like an eternity and nights only take half of a second, a year is somehow shorter and faster and you will cherish those nights spent rocking a hungry baby back to sleep and rubbing bald his soft little head. And even though you hardly sleep now, it's because you're spending your nights whispering prayers of love and protection and reminiscing with your husband about the antics of that sleeping baby boy. You'll never tire of this new sleepless life because there has never, in the whole world, been a better or sweeter or more important reason for lack of sleep. 

These moments are fleeting. I would tell myself that. 

Eleven months//Dear Maddox

Dear Maddox,

Well, little love, here we are in the final countdown to your one-year birthday. These eleven months have sped right along and I'm sure the months will continue to fly past us until you are suddenly a teenager and then an adult and all the while I'll still be remembering what it felt like to hold your warm little body in my arms as I rocked you to sleep. Thank goodness for memories. Those things are saving my life.

You are rambunctious and wild and always on the move. You are never still for more than a second and that is obvious as I look at the toys strewn from one end of the living room to the other. You love when we chase you and the moment we sit down and get comfortable, you take off and squeal as we run behind you and scoop you up. You're incredibly fast and proficient at getting under the chairs and through small spaces. You taught yourself to climb the stairs in our family room and can sometimes go back down. Mostly you love to just climb up the stairs and then bang on the glass doors that lead back into the house. But you do really love to climb the stairs.

Your current favorite toy on the planet is anything with a light on it. Examples: The light on the dishwasher when it's running; the light on the stove when we're cooking; the light on the space heater; actual lights, et cetera. Anything with a light is your new best friend and you point and point until we acknowledge that yes, that is a light.

You love to point things out to us. If we ask you were something is, you look around the room searching for that thing until you find it. Then you squeal with delight and point and squirm out of our arms to go and touch whatever it is that you've just discovered. You love to point out the puppy and anything with a baby on it. Lights, too, obviously and also the windows.

You have four official teeth at this stage; and the cutest little gap in your top two. You absolutely hate when I try to look at them and you clamp your mouth shut and shake your head until I finally stop prying your mouth open. And these teeth have brought a very fun stage of eating to our meal times. You are officially over being fed and you much prefer finger food and feeding yourself. You love chicken and tuna but you didn't really like beef. Your absolute favorite food is mac and cheese and we make this for you several times a week. You had a bit of a growth spurt/teething episode where you didn't want to eat a thing and so we gave you whatever you wanted for a few days just to keep something in your belly. Whatever you wanted happened to be shredded cheese and bananas, but only if you can eat the banana like an adult. Meal times are mostly easier now that you can mostly eat what we eat, with a few modifications.

A few weeks ago when I was putting you to sleep, you were laying across my lap nursing and I was so amazed at how big you are. You were this tiny little infant who fit between my arms and hardly took up any space on my lap. Now you are practically a toddler. Your arms and legs sprawl across me and the rocking chair and I swear I can see them growing if I look hard enough. You don't love to cuddle and you would definitely rather be on the floor and go, go, going instead of on our laps; so when you do fall asleep in my arms, I stay there for as long as I possibly can.

You have managed to flip my entire world upside down and inside out, Maddox Oliver. Every single day is a new adventure with you. You are constantly learning something new (like how you can sign "all done" when you're finished eating) and showing off everything you know. You make us laugh until tears stream down our faces and we can tell that this makes you so happy. You are so easy to love and you have brought us so much joy and happiness. We are so thankful for these eleven months, where we learned so much about what being a mama and daddy really means. You have taught us about love and forgiveness and you have made us the happiest people on this planet. There are no words to properly describe the love that we have for you, but I hope that you know it when you see us smile at you and play peek-a-boo and kiss your soft little head. I hope that even though you won't remember these moments, that somewhere in your heart you will know that you were loved far more than I ever thought I could love another human being, every single moment of every day of your life. You are the best part of me and I hope that I'm doing this right.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

Mama

Mama

I wanted to be a mom my whole life. I wanted to have my own children and adopt children. I wanted my house to be filled with laughter and crayons and sippy cups and my fridge to be covered with pictures and spelling tests. I wanted tiny jammies with elephants and ducks and monkeys. I wanted the booties and the hats and the miniature things that make people squeal. I wanted the car seat in all of its 35 pound glory. I wanted the fleece blankets and the flannel blankets and the baby blankets from my childhood that my mom had stored in the attic.

But I wasn't prepared for the emotions. I wasn't prepared for my heart to stop every time I stood in the doorway to check on a sleeping baby and wait for the rise and fall on his chest. I wasn't prepared for the way my heart would swell and burst with every smile. I wasn't prepared for the way that his first laugh would split my entire soul in two and then just as quickly restore it. I wasn't prepared for the love my heart was capable of. I wasn't prepared for the feeling of an independent ten month old baby resting his head on my shoulder willingly. I wasn't prepared to hold my baby in my arms for the first time. I wasn't prepared to hear "mama" for the first time.

I wanted all of it but I wasn't prepared for any of it.

There's no manual that can tell you how your heart will burst one thousand times in the first minutes of new life. There's no manual that will tell you to prepare to be ruined and wrecked every single day.

My heart is tied up in the body of this 21 pound baby. This little man who prefers Kix over Cheerios and doesn't want to be rocked to sleep anymore. This baby who reaches for the things he wants, including people. This baby who hates having his feet covered. This little baby who crawls from room to room and loves to be chased. This little baby who gives millions of kisses to the baby in the mirror.

Every new thing. Every old thing. Every memory. Every breath. Smile. Laugh. Sound. Look. Pull of my hair. All of it. I feel it all in my heart. In this place that was awakened with his first breath.

I didn't know what it would be like to be a mom. But I am so glad for this chance to be one. If I only do one thing right, I hope that it's him.