Dear Chase -
Did I ever tell you about the first time you made me laugh? It was about an hour and a half after you were born - maybe a little longer. Everyone had finally left, and Daddy had stepped out of the hospital room. Maybe he left to walk everyone out. Maybe he went to get some food; I don't really remember.
It was the first time after you were born that we were alone, just you and me. I was holding you while you were sleeping. I looked at you and said "Hello, little man." As I spoke, I exhaled, and when my breathe hit your face your little eyebrows raised up. It was so cute and sweet and made me laugh. So I blew gently on your face a few more times, and each time, your little eyebrows rose up.
It was a moment that took less than a minute, and one that may seem insignificant. But it was one of the first times you reacted to me, and one of the first times I got to glimpse the personality of the "little man" you'd grow to be.
No one saw that moment but me. It's a moment I will remember forever. Who knew then how many times over the years you would continue to make me laugh and smile.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Dear Karlin - 2/15/11
Dear Karlin -
I got the idea for a Letters blog a few weeks back. I'm starting with you, because you are the oldest. You were the ground breaker in our world of parenting and there are some things I want to tell you.
Your Dad and I knew we wanted a baby. We were excited and scared when we found out you were coming. (I think it actually took about 2 weeks before your father's feet touched the floor again.) Having a first baby, though, is scary. And intimidating. Just the initial trip to Babies-R-Us totally freaked us out. There's so much STUFF. And you are about to bring a PERSON - a real live PERSON into this world, and you are 100% totally responsible for caring for it.
There are the billions of questions: What do I feed it? What do I name it? How do I learn to change diapers? Do we need special furniture? Will the dog be OK with it? Will I keep working? Will I stay home? What if it gets sick? I could go on and on...
I always said I "wanted a boy", and I told everyone that I just knew you were a boy. Truth is, though, that deep inside, I knew you were a girl. I'm not a girly-girl, so the idea of a little girl scared me. (Not 100% unfounded, as I still have trouble doing your hair...) Now Aunt Karin - she was surprised. Remind me sometime to pull out the Ultrasound tape and let you hear her say - repeatedly - "Are you sure? Are you sure it's not a boy?" It was pretty funny. After we found out for sure, Daddy and I picked a little pair of pink and green baby socks from the box as a parting Ultrasound gift, then went to Ruby Tuesdays for lunch. I was in shock. You were a girl. A real live girl. A PERSON with a gender.
So, we did what any newbie parents would do. We went out and bought Un-Godly expensive baby furniture. (In all fairness, that furniture has now made it through you, Chase, Piers, AND Channing, so all-in-all not a bad deal.) We had the showers (no pink, I said. I won't have pink.) We picked a short list of names (Reagan, Isabelle, and Karlin.) We painted your nursery a pretty green, and my big fat pregnant self stood on a ladder for hours on end stenciling little zoo animals around the room. I loved your nursery. It was beautiful.
I won't get into the whole birth experience. We've already told you it was hard, and that you did NOT want to come out to see everyone.
What I will get into is this: we loved you. I mean, I knew we would love you, but what took us both by surprise was how MUCH we loved you. Immediately. Instantaneously. This chest-bursting, instinctive, all-powering, all-consuming LOVE for this tiny child who just came into our lives. It was staggering. At that moment, we would do anything for you. Sacrifice our lives to keep you safe. Do anything and everything necessary to protect you and give you what you need.
(This is one of those things you will never, ever comprehend until you have kids of your own. Then you'll say "ahhhhh - now I get it.")
You were beautiful and sweet and easy and perfect. And LOVED. I believe your Grampy - who had been so very sick for so many years - stayed around just a little longer so that he could meet you. That's how much you were loved. That's how much you ARE loved.
In coming letters, I may tell you about how you used to say "Pick you up!" when you wanted us to pick you up (in response to us always saying "Do you want me to pick you up?"), or how your version of "Cutie Patootie" came out "Cutie Tatootie." Or how you and your Dad took me to Talullah Gorge for Mother's Day a month before your 2nd birthday, and I caught you counting the nails in the park bench.
But today I wanted to share with you how much we loved you, from the very beginning. There are no words to describe this love. Just know that it exists, and that you have it always.
I got the idea for a Letters blog a few weeks back. I'm starting with you, because you are the oldest. You were the ground breaker in our world of parenting and there are some things I want to tell you.
Your Dad and I knew we wanted a baby. We were excited and scared when we found out you were coming. (I think it actually took about 2 weeks before your father's feet touched the floor again.) Having a first baby, though, is scary. And intimidating. Just the initial trip to Babies-R-Us totally freaked us out. There's so much STUFF. And you are about to bring a PERSON - a real live PERSON into this world, and you are 100% totally responsible for caring for it.
There are the billions of questions: What do I feed it? What do I name it? How do I learn to change diapers? Do we need special furniture? Will the dog be OK with it? Will I keep working? Will I stay home? What if it gets sick? I could go on and on...
I always said I "wanted a boy", and I told everyone that I just knew you were a boy. Truth is, though, that deep inside, I knew you were a girl. I'm not a girly-girl, so the idea of a little girl scared me. (Not 100% unfounded, as I still have trouble doing your hair...) Now Aunt Karin - she was surprised. Remind me sometime to pull out the Ultrasound tape and let you hear her say - repeatedly - "Are you sure? Are you sure it's not a boy?" It was pretty funny. After we found out for sure, Daddy and I picked a little pair of pink and green baby socks from the box as a parting Ultrasound gift, then went to Ruby Tuesdays for lunch. I was in shock. You were a girl. A real live girl. A PERSON with a gender.
So, we did what any newbie parents would do. We went out and bought Un-Godly expensive baby furniture. (In all fairness, that furniture has now made it through you, Chase, Piers, AND Channing, so all-in-all not a bad deal.) We had the showers (no pink, I said. I won't have pink.) We picked a short list of names (Reagan, Isabelle, and Karlin.) We painted your nursery a pretty green, and my big fat pregnant self stood on a ladder for hours on end stenciling little zoo animals around the room. I loved your nursery. It was beautiful.
I won't get into the whole birth experience. We've already told you it was hard, and that you did NOT want to come out to see everyone.
What I will get into is this: we loved you. I mean, I knew we would love you, but what took us both by surprise was how MUCH we loved you. Immediately. Instantaneously. This chest-bursting, instinctive, all-powering, all-consuming LOVE for this tiny child who just came into our lives. It was staggering. At that moment, we would do anything for you. Sacrifice our lives to keep you safe. Do anything and everything necessary to protect you and give you what you need.
(This is one of those things you will never, ever comprehend until you have kids of your own. Then you'll say "ahhhhh - now I get it.")
You were beautiful and sweet and easy and perfect. And LOVED. I believe your Grampy - who had been so very sick for so many years - stayed around just a little longer so that he could meet you. That's how much you were loved. That's how much you ARE loved.
In coming letters, I may tell you about how you used to say "Pick you up!" when you wanted us to pick you up (in response to us always saying "Do you want me to pick you up?"), or how your version of "Cutie Patootie" came out "Cutie Tatootie." Or how you and your Dad took me to Talullah Gorge for Mother's Day a month before your 2nd birthday, and I caught you counting the nails in the park bench.
But today I wanted to share with you how much we loved you, from the very beginning. There are no words to describe this love. Just know that it exists, and that you have it always.
Dear Karlin and Chase...
You know, having kids changes your life. Sometimes in good ways. MOST times in good ways. You'll always hear people say "One day when you have your own kids, you'll understand." This is SO true.
We get so busy in our day-to-day lives of soccer and riding lessons and chorus and Scouts and working and travelling and, well, EVERYTHING that it scares me. I turn around and BAM. Chase is about to turn 7, and Karlin is about to hit double digits (the big 1-0...)
I never seem to make the time or take the time to tell you some things. Some things that are funny or some things that are sad. Some things that are memories. Some things that make me cry if I try to say them out loud.
So here we are. A Blog just for you. I don't know how often I'll write; probably just when the inclination strikes me, or when something happens that I want to tell you about. Hopefully one day I'll share this with you, and you'll get a tiny glimpse of just how very much I love you both.
xoxo
We get so busy in our day-to-day lives of soccer and riding lessons and chorus and Scouts and working and travelling and, well, EVERYTHING that it scares me. I turn around and BAM. Chase is about to turn 7, and Karlin is about to hit double digits (the big 1-0...)
I never seem to make the time or take the time to tell you some things. Some things that are funny or some things that are sad. Some things that are memories. Some things that make me cry if I try to say them out loud.
So here we are. A Blog just for you. I don't know how often I'll write; probably just when the inclination strikes me, or when something happens that I want to tell you about. Hopefully one day I'll share this with you, and you'll get a tiny glimpse of just how very much I love you both.
xoxo
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