to my butterfly: happy first birthday.

Dear Mariposa,

Tonight I will hold you and rock you to sleep. It's a self-made tradition I like to do with you and your sister on the night before your birthday. It always reminds me of those quiet, sleepless moments in the hospital right after your birth. Your birth seems only like it was a few months ago. It blows my mind that twelve months have already passed.

This year has been a whirlwind. I've seen you grow and bloom into an almost toddler and it still amazes me how lovely you are. In the hospital you were calm and serene. While your birth was a bit scary and chaotic, everything once you arrived slowed down and became so gentle. Even now, you have such a sweet and gentle personality. You are always happy, and rarely fuss or cry. When you do get upset, there is a problem and it's easily solved.

You love life and you love people. Any interaction you get brings you such joy. Your joy is infectious and even strangers comment on how happy you are.
You are curious, always exploring empty rooms, or following your sister into adventures that end up in mischief. Over the past year, I have loved watching the bond that you and your sister have grow into something unique and special. I never had a sister growing up, and I always wonder what that connection is like. It is something that will follow you for your whole life. She will be there for you in ways I will be unable to. You love Arlie so much, and will already follow her wherever she goes. There are moments where you exasperate her; stealing her toys or pacifier. Despite this, it is Arlie that loves to go and wake you up from your naps in the morning or share her breakfast with you.

Lately, you have also been a daddy's girl. You cling to your father when he's at home. You want him when you are upset or don't feel well. At first, I took it hard. I used to be your favorite person--and at times I still am. Yet I know at the end of the day, I still have a bond with you that no one else does.
After your birth there were several long months where I struggled with depression. There were moments that existing was a battle--one that I didn't think I would survive. I was lost, and all answers felt unreachable. One day, I woke up and found that I had lost every ounce of hope I had in me. It scared me how low I felt. I felt completely isolated in my grief and pain. In an act of desperation, I picked you up from your crib and I held you close while we slowly rocked. I remember crying as I held you and smelled your hair. Your hair always smells like pancakes and sleepy Saturday mornings. It was that smell that was the link to reality that I desperately held on to. That smell reminded me of the hope I thought I had lost. It reminded me that I had three people in my life that I needed to live for.

Even though you were so tiny, so unaware, you in fact saved me that day. You were the one thing that kept me holding on, and I will always be thankful for that. Even now, when things feel so chaotic or overwhelming; holding you close and smelling your hair brings be back to a place of stillness.
I think that is my birthday wish for you: I hope you surround yourself with people that remind you of your joy when it feels that it is lost. I hope you have people that love you with abandon. I hope you find moments of stillness and relish in their solitude.

I love you, my sweet Posie girl. Your cheeks hold secrets, and your giggle is deep and full of life.

Love,
Your Mother

To my wildfire: happy second birthday

My sweet Arlandria,

It is now midnight, which means seven hundred and thirty days ago I heard you cry for the first time. Piercing and loud, I gasped when I first heard your tiny voice. I looked up at your dad, because he was able to see you over the surgery curtain. I saw the look of awe in his eyes when he heard you cry. He was as mystified as I was, for your cry filled the sterile corners of the tiny operating room. Long and loud, it demanded to be known.


Looking back now, I realize that cry was the first spark of the wildfire that is your life.

Tonight I heard that same cry as you woke up from a nightmare. This time that cry was also paired with a shout of "Mommy," which made me immediately run to you. You've been having nightmares lately. This is something that I realize comes with this age in life, but it doesn't make it any less painful. So I went to you, like I always do, and cuddled you close. I gave you your doll that you had lost in the dark, and we laid together as our breathing slowly started to intertwine into a nighttime melody. It made me wish I could take all your exhales and store them up so tightly, so that maybe I could capture your babyhood for just a little longer.

Dear Arlandria: Year One

Dear Arlandria,

Tonight as I held you close and gave you goodnight kisses, I realized that it would be the last time I kissed you before you turned one. To you, it was a normal night and our typical bedtime routine. To me, it was the closing of a chapter and I felt like I was sending you off to college. I realize this sounds dramatic, but it's so true. Little one, you have given me the most beautiful year of my life, and I will never stop thanking you for it. You are my proudest accomplishment, and for my greatest achievement in life.

This year we faced trials together, as we battled reflux, colds, tummy viruses, teething, and so much more. You've caused me to grow up and let go of many things that made me selfish. You've taught me to practice self care, because if I don't take care of myself I cannot take care of you. I've gotten more thoughtful and intentional with my spending habits, and house chores.
While I've become a better person because of you, I've also failed you more times than I can count. I've realized that I will never be a perfect parent. While I do spend more hours than I care to admit worrying over if I am good enough, I realize that I will still fail you. I will continue to disappoint you, as I have many times before. I'm human and flawed, it's going to happen.  I remember before you were born that I worried about not being good enough for you, not being able to be everything you need.

Looking back I see the spots where I wasn't able to be everything you needed. But you know what? Someone else was able to step in and be the thing that you needed--and that is okay. Some days you wanted nothing but your dad. You wanted to play and roughhouse in ways that only he offers. Some days I was sick and exhausted from being pregnant with your sister, and I couldn't give you everything you needed. Despite this I can confidently say that you never were in want or in need of anything. While I wasn't the one providing for you all the time, someone was at all times.

And that is my birthday wish for you this year. I hope that you will choose to surround yourself with good people in your life. People that meet your needs and pour into you. I hope you find people that you are also able to love, care for, and nurture in return. I hope you are inspired and challenged. I hope you grow and are pushed to become more than you are.
I realize there will come a day where we probably won't be close, and you will choose others over me, because you will be 13 and I will not be able to understand you no matter how hard I try. We will speak different languages despite the fact that you lived inside me for nine months and I studied your syntax so ardently. There will be a temporary barrier between us, and you will choose to turn to others for guidance and comfort. When that day comes I hope you have the ability to discern between those that seek to help you grow, and those that seek to tear you down.

While I won't be able to be there and give you all that you need, I hope you have people that will. I hope that you find people that make you dream big and never settle for less. And when the world does fail you, because it will, I promise I will always be here. I will always want to pour into you and love you when you need it the most. I promise to always try to listen, even when I can't understand.

You are meant for the stars, little one, so please never settle for looking at the things on the ground.

Happy first birthday, my darling.

Love,
Your mother.