This Day.

Madelyn Olivia,

I think of you. Every night, I think of you.
Before my eyelids win their heavy fight against my conscience, and I succomb to sleep I do my thinking. About the day that passed. About my job. About my wedding plans. About a new cd I listened to. About finances. About redecorating. About relationships. About everything my days contain. And always, always about you.

I think of what today taught you. All the days that have passed since you came into my arms. All the days that brought you new tricks to show off with. To wave ‘bye bye’. To shake your head no, or nod yes with your entire body. To say dog and mama and daddy and whats that, and my personal favorite, dance, dance, dance (da da da). To pull clothes up across your head, because you know thats how we get dressed. To make your train go “bbbbbbrrrrrrroooooomb” while you cruise across the kitchen. To speed along on your hands and knees faster than I ever imagined a baby could. To stand, so close to walking (but allowing me just one more day of having a baby and not a toddler). You grow in each second, Madelyn. Physically, emotionally, mentally. I am awed.
Those fingers, on which you used to spend hours trying to simply find and upon discovery, suck ferociously. Now they wave and point and tickle. Those toes I counted and nibbled and thought impossibly small. Now inches from taking their first free steps. That voice that I first heard cry out, then coo so softly. Now creates words, and squeels of happiness, and songs. The things you have mastered every day amaze me baby girl. Every night I think of all you have learned.

I think of what will come. A year has passed so quickly, too quickly. My heart aches for time to fall back so that we can do it all again. Every sleepless night. Every nurse. Every roll. Every bath. Every walk. Every cuddle. Every song. Every dance. Every smile. But there are years to come. They will bring memories all their own. You will walk, and run, and play games. You will dance, and sing, and write stories. You will create, and make believe, and change the world. You will make friends, and go to school, and leave our sheltered world. You will grow up. You will become a little girl, and then a woman. The person you will become is written all over you already. She will become stronger and brighter with those years that are coming. The changes you will bring stun me little one. Every night I think of all that will come.

I worry. Every night. Am I doing enough? Am I doing it wrong? Can I give you what you need? Can I help you be anything you want to be? Will I make you happy? Will you know how hard I tried?
The love that came when you arrived was one I knew I would feel. Unconditional. But the complete and all consuming fear that it brought, I never knew I would know. There is not a night that I lay down to that does not bring thoughts of who I am molding you to be. Becoming your mother changed me fundamentally in ways I did not expect. Nothing I do, from driving to work to flying across the world, is without a thought of you. Who you will be if I am not here. Who you will be if I am. The world can be a scary place to a mother; a constant game of chance. I could stay home and hide away with you, hidden from the world and all its frightening possibilities. But there is a prize if I chose to play, Madelyn. I get to be a part in watching you become amazing. I get to cheer you on at soccer games and watch your dance recitals. I get to hang your art on my walls, and read the stories you scribbled down. I get to kiss your scraped knees, and kiss you goodnight. I get to ground you, and tell you ‘that boy is no good’. I get to listen to you, and watch you, and experience you. I get to be your mommy. Every day, and every night I worry about what will come tomorrow.

And then, every night I push the door to your room open just before I go to bed and creep slowly across the floor. You’ve long since fallen into a deep sleep coma and tossed your sucky aside. The blankets are usually underneath you and in the most awkward spot to pry free and recover you without disturbing your slumber. Your delicious chubby thighs are spread width-wise across your crib, allowing your feet to slip through the cracks. I lean on the railing and stare at you, your chest rising and falling, your eyelids flickering with the movies in your head. But then, my favorite part? I break every mommy bed time survival rule and reach in and lift your little body up to me, and we dance. Every night, Madelyn. Then you stir, irritated Im sure to have been disturbed from your wonderful baby dreams, but with a flutter of eyelids, and a crooked little half grin, you snuggle your face into my shoulder and throw your leg over my arm to recreate your crib sprawl. And your breathing steadies again. And I smell the top of your head and just hold you, dreaming in my arms while we dance our night time dance. And I thank the world and all its ways for bringing you to me. Every night.

Happy First Birthday to you, my sweetest baby girl. I am so thankful for you, and everything you have and will continue to become.
I love you times 3 infinities and the moon.

Love, Mama.







Filed under baby, Letters, Picture Posts

12 responses to “This Day.

  1. jameslrr

    As usual Coral, a beautify penned (keyboarded?) blog post. Your ability to string those words together is always a joy to be able to read. Madelyn is one lucky girl to have a such a loving (and talented) mother, and I truly believe if you decide to share these words with her one day she will love you just that much more.

  2. morningaftershow

    holy cutest little baby!

  3. Caitlin

    oooooohhhhhhhhh, wow! (pretend I’m saying it like Madelyn does).

    You just made me cry. Lame (me, not you). You are a wonderful mama and I hope that I get to experience the same one day.

    And yes, your baby girl has the MOST delicious chubby thighs.

  4. oh. oh. what more can i say but oh, this is really sweet and really really nice. amazing emotion here mom. wait till she’s a woman getting married and reads this. oh.

  5. Very sweet, and eloquent as usual, Cos.

    But isn’t it the daddy’s job to tell her “that boy is no good”? 😉

  6. Pingback: of oranges and babies « The Morning After

  7. Mom/Nana/Margot

    awww Coral, my baby, you are a splendiferous mother

  8. Pingback: Project 365: Day 6 « Why Not… That’s Why!

  9. You write so beautifully! You manage to bring a tear to my eye every time lately. Happy (belated) Big One to your little lady. She is nothing short of precious.

    PS. Year Two is awesome! It just keeps getting better.

  10. Arnab

    Just dropping by.Btw, you website have great content!

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  11. rainspeaker

    That was beautiful!

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