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

keep your joy.

Dear Mariposa,

Last month you turned six months old. It is crazy to me that you have been here for half a year now. It feels like you have been here for much longer. Even at your birth you seamlessly nestled your way into our family, and I can't imagine a life without you. This letter is quite similar to the one I wrote prior to this, but I'm still processing my emotions at your arrival and how you changed my life.
Last night, I was thinking back on the first few weeks after your birth, and how badly I struggled with depression and anxiety. Balancing work and motherhood was hard for me, and there were many pieces your dad was left to pick up in the aftermath. I was like a shadow, going through the motions but not ever truly present. I remember saying that the pregnancy robbed me of my joy, but looking back now I see that I was wrong.

To my little butterfly: thank you

Dear Mariposa,

Little butterfly, today you woke up with a smile on your face. Most days you great me with a gentle smile that fills every inch of me with joy. When I find out we were having a little girl, I knew I wanted the name Mariposa. It's gentle and lovely, much like you. I've only known you for eleven short weeks, but you have totally transformed my life for the better.

Dear Mariposa: You are almost here

Dear Mariposa,

It's Dad writing to you. It's been a long time since Mom or I wrote anything like this. One of these days I think it's something you may learn - life sometimes gets the better of you. Between the jobs to work, bills to pay, chores to do, and life to live, we sometimes stop doing things we want or put it off because exhaustion and habit can take us to a place where we want to be comfortable.

All that matters when that happens, Posie, is that you get back to doing it eventually. And today that's what I'm doing. For you.