5w 2d surprise

Dear Surprise Baby,

On Sunday, May 17, 2015, I found out that you exist. Barely. I was only four weeks along. But the night before, your daddy kept asking me why I was standing funny and rubbing my torso, and I said, "I feel like I'm pregnant." So that next morning I took a pregnancy test just to be funny, and there was that immortal second line on the test in a nice dark blue. I took another test to make sure. Another positive.

I couldn't really breathe right for the next couple hours. In the shower, I kept cycling through the emotions: incredulity, joy, anxiety, eagerness, denial. I giggled. I tried to catch my breath. I texted my friend because I had to scream HOLY SHIT at someone.

When I told your daddy, I'm pretty sure he said, "Are you kidding me?" (He was barely awake.)

It's been more than a week now, and I think about you constantly.

There are a million difficult decisions to be made. (Ahem, now accepting donations for minivans and daycare.) But I promise you, we'll figure it out. We'll find a way. Whatever we have to do to bring you safely and soundly into the world and into our lives, we'll do it. We'll take care of you.

You're going to love your big brothers. I can't wait to tell them the news.

I can't wait to know you.

We're all going to love you.

Truman's really late birthday post

My baby turned one year old a while ago.

He keeps getting cuter and cuter. He has developed a sense of humor and makes himself laugh by blowing raspberries. He loves being chased and will crawl away from me giggling every time I want to get his socks and jacket on. He stands and cruises but doesn't walk. He sometimes cries in the night, and if it's a full moon he'll be inconsolable until I take him to the living room and turn on the lights and play the movie Frozen.

His favorite things in the world are his daddy's funny faces, applesauce, Frozen, his brother when he runs and does things he can't do, green beans, being outside, Frozen, throwing things, big splashes in the bathtub, his own voice, and FROZEN. Little toddler Anna is the love of his life.

One year ago, I was just trying to figure out how to be a mother to two little boys and go to work. It was impossibly hard and has not gotten any easier. But I know you now. I know every screeching, ear-shattering scream that you make. I know how strong you are, how loving, how much you change every day from one minute to the next. I will come home tonight and you will be a new person, but you'll still be my Truman, always my Truman. 

Truman's first year...

 

I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always, as long as I'm living my baby you'll be.

My Four-Year-Old

Dear Fletcher,

One thing parenthood has taught me is that every age is a tough age. On paper, being four sounds easy. You play with toys, eat lots of macaroni and cheese, still get a nap, and don't need a job. But in truth, I know the emotional being you currently are, because you wear those emotions plainly on your sleeve.

This is how we start as humans: feeling everything, completely throwing ourselves out there when we're excited, complaining loudly when we don't like something, pushing and pulling when we're frustrated, screaming and crying when we're hurt or scared or just so confused. It's the height of vulnerability.

In the years ahead, a lot of that exuberance will probably be tamed. You may continue to feel the exhaustive range of emotion, but you'll learn that acting on these emotions is unfavorable.

Sit still. Be quiet. Don't bite. Clean up your mess. I said no. Don't jump off the furniture. Hold my hand. Go to sleep. Eat your chicken. Get in the car. Wipe your own butt.

So much of what I say to you is a command. And much of the rest of what I say is disappointing. I can't right now. I have to make dinner. I'm feeding your brother. I need to do the laundry. I'll be there in a minute.

Play with me, Mommy.

On your fourth birthday, Fletcher, I want you to know that I feel what you feel and I want what you want, even when it sometimes doesn't feel like it. Sitting with you on the living room floor, forcing myself to ignore all the pressure weighing on me, is the best part of the day. I do want to spend all day hearing what you have to say, watching your stubborn and downright sassy side develop, learning what you're confident about today and what intimidates you, shaking my head at your endless supply of energy, and having a part in your rapid learning and growth.

Every day you change. Every day I love you even more.

The first preference you showed was for dinosaurs and trains. I remember when Thomas the Train and Dinosaur Train would light you up. Now you love superheroes and fighting bad guys, running from imaginary bears and dinosaurs, attacking monsters, jumping on people, staging epic battles, always running running running.

Run, Mommy, run! 

Next, I imagine, will be sports. You love soccer balls, basketballs, footballs, baseballs now mainly because it's an activity outside. But the time is coming when you will outrun and outplay us all. You've been a physical creature since birth, after all.

I'm so lucky that I get to be a part of it, that I have these years ahead of me where I can continue to watch and contribute to the great boy you are and will be.

Life is hard. It's not going to get easier. But experiencing it together is a such a gift. Thank you, Fletcher, for being my four-year-old.

Love,
Mommy 

Making his own birthday cake with Grandma Patty.

"Only I can do it."