Oh Christmas Tree

I've talked about the crappy Christmas puff painting "art" that I did for my parents (sadly, when I was old enough to know better). They kept it. They had it laminated. And every year, it claimed a spot right in the middle of my parents' refrigerator. *cringes*

Oh the embarrassment. Why, I wondered, was there the need to hang on to drawings of disfigured people and ambiguous objects? And they simply replied, "One day you'll understand, when you have kids of your own."

(Pshh. Yeah, right. )

But then, Ella and I decided to decorate ornaments yesterday.




OH. Now I get it.


Thus, I give you my most cherished ornament on our tree this year. :)

Dear Milo...

You don't even know what's coming. Right now, all you know is quiet contentment- the warmth and darkness of your now overly cramped living quarters and the gentle swooshing of your Momma's heartbeat. But in just a few hours, you're going to be pulled, kicking and screaming (quite literally) into something cold and foreign, with big, bright lights and strange faces and voices and it will all be very overwhelming for you. I want to go ahead and tell you right now that everything will be okay. You might be afraid for a few minutes, but the fear will pass. It always does, sooner or later. Some of those new faces will bundle you up and make you warm and then one of them will carry you over to someone whose voice you'll recognize. You've heard him talk and laugh and sing and play with your sister. His hands will wrap themselves around your tiny, shriveled fingers and it's these hands that will one day teach you how to hold a baseball and throw a splitter, and how to play an E diminished on the guitar. But these hands will also show you so much more than that- like how to embrace both the beautiful and painful things in life...how to loosen your grip on those things you will want to control and how to hold on tightly to the things that are worth holding on to. This is your Daddy.

He will teach you to live in the moment. And it won't take much time around him for you to come to understand what compassion is- what it looks, feels and tastes like. He will show you that it's okay to let your heart break for other people and that being vulnerable with others has the ability to make you come alive. He loves you more than you'll ever be able to comprehend. I am so excited for you to meet him. And I can say with all of the confidence in the world that he is, and always will be, your biggest fan.

Your Momma has been eagerly awaiting this day too. To say that this has been a bumpy ride for both of us is an understatement. It's been an emotional and anxious 10 months and I'm sure you've been able to sense that. I wish I could've changed so much of that for both of our sakes- especially yours- but the truth behind the scary feelings is that they cause us to grow and change and become stronger people. As you grow up, you will be afraid and have your heart broken and feel pain and your Momma will have to fight a very real and overwhelming urge to want to hold you and protect you from those things (you know, until you're at least 79 years old or so). But there's a journey ahead for both of us, and it's called letting go. The time that you've spent in my belly is the only time I know I'll ever truly be able to hold and protect you as much as I possibly can. I'm fully aware that once the doctor puts you in my arms, I've already begun to let you go. I've already begun to give up control. I've already begun to pray harder than I've ever prayed in my entire life. I did the same with your sister. And I'm still learning to give up that control, still letting go and pulling close, still praying.

Being Mommy to you and your sister is the best thing I will ever do. I can't wait to know who you are. To touch you and know that you're real- that you're not some very active figment of my imagination for the last 10 months. To hold your precious hands and to kiss each tiny finger and toe and to be thankful that you're mine. To be grateful I've been given the privilege of being your mommy. I can't wait to see that first crooked little smile- the one that I'll see in your eyes before it ever makes it's way to your mouth. And then to see you recognize your big sister and to watch her love you in the way that only she'll know how. (For the record, she is going to beat you up and boss you around from time to time. And there will be consequences for her actions, of course. But don't say I never warned you. ;- ) ).

My sweet baby boy: you are loved. You have been hoped for, wanted, dreamt about, prayed over, cried for, celebrated- long before I ever felt you move inside me for the first time, and even more so since then. I love you- more than I did yesterday, but not nearly as much as I will in a few hours.

I'll see you soon. :)

Love,

Mommy

Purple Elmo's

I love watching Ella color. I love the non-conformity with which she scribbles. Lines? Who cares about staying in the lines? Who cares if she colors Elmo black, then red, then a couple of shades of purple and gives him a blue nose. Sometimes, i just want to crawl inside her head and see what she's thinking- just watch the wheels turn. (But, really, I'd only like to do this while she's between the ages of 1 and 5. After that- and especially when she heads into puberty- I think I'd rather not be inside her head. Might be a bit too much for me to handle).

Back to my little artist. I love that she loves to simply create, and the cool thing is that her imagination is turned on by what I would probably consider the dullest things imaginable. The other day, she spent an hour playing with some little glass votives (supervised playing, of course ;-) ). I sat on the floor with her and watched her as she picked them up, carried them to the table, set them down, randomly put cheerios in them, then picked them back up and carried them back over to the windowsill....and so on. For an hour. She had a blast. As I watched her, I found myself wondering what happens to us as we get older, that we stop being captivated by everyday things. For the record, I'm not advocating that we should all stand and gape open-mouthed at some kind of glass votive centerpiece (though I've been guilty of doing this with similar objects while shopping in Crate and Barrel. But that's beside the point). It just seems that over time, we tend to lose our curiosity about the little things. Even the big things.

At some point, we stop thinking outside the lines in the coloring book. Maybe it's because one day, someone tells us that we need to color Elmo red- because he's always been red and he'll always be red. It's no longer acceptable to make a purple Elmo. So we say, "okay," but we move on to our next project with just a shred more trepidation and insecurity. And this is just the beginning of a chain of events that cause us to become increasingly aware that it's not actually okay to branch out anymore- that "different" isn't so good after all. By the time we hit our teenage years, we're dropping money (if we're really lucky, it's our parents') in an effort to keep from standing out at all. We need to do, wear, and buy what everyone else is doing, wearing and buying. By the time we reach college, we decide on majors and minors and a small percentage will end up with a career in something that truly re-creates and energizes them. The rest fall into the trap that because we're truly good at "X", we need to put all of our eggs into one basket and pursue "X," even if it isn't life-giving. Even if it's, in fact, soul-sucking.

I grew up surrounded by music. I say it was my first love, because it truly was. But here's the thing about first loves- they're the exception rather than the rule, aren't they? They tend to stick with us better in our memory than they often do in our reality. After 25 years of lessons, recitals, gigs, a Music Education degree, a few years leading a worship team, a private piano studio, a handful of finished original songs (and many more that are unfinished), it's hard for me to recall a time in my life when music wasn't an integral part of it. But just because it was integral doesn't mean I always wanted it that way. The truth is, I have never totally resolved the feeling that I should be doing music- even if I didn't want to. Even if I was burnt out. It was my "X" and because I was deemed "good at it," the rest, as they say, is history. Even in the last few months, I've grown increasingly frustrated that I'm not churning out more original work and writing new stuff. But no one other than me has placed those expectations on my shoulders. I came to the startling conclusion that I've never allowed myself to let it go for any length of time because I almost felt like I was committing some form of adultery. My first love- how could I let it fall by the wayside while I explore other things? That would just be....wrong....right??

Wrong.

So I've let myself off the hook. And it's been incredibly liberating. Honestly, I don't miss music too much at the moment. Not only that, but I don't feel guilty for not missing it. I know I'll eventually come back to it and it'll be there waiting for me. And when I do decide to pick it up again, I can be sure it will be with a renewed vigor and intensity. Absence does make the heart grow fonder, after all. Until then, I've got this new camera that is completely perplexing to me, but I'm loving figuring out all of the buttons and gadgets and how if I take the picture at this angle and increase the shutter speed or use a different mode, I get this kind of result. Sadly, it's been a long time since I've actually learned something new. Too long. I can blame a fear of failure, in part. I can also blame a guilty conscience, as weird as it was for me to come to that realization. Yet I suspect an even bigger culprit in this was the gradual loss of a childlike curiosity for something new and uncharted. But I've been able to draw inspiration, once again, from my little Bug- who continues to be delighted in coloring pictures of purple Elmo's with blue noses. I hope she never loses her sense of creativity. But just in case she does...I think I'll frame them for future reference. ;-)

A Work of Art

My parents have this picture I made for them when I was about ten years old. It's a picture of Santa Claus and a Christmas tree with toys under it. And, just to show that I was versatile in various mediums, I went all out and used puff paint for this particular masterpiece. Yep, I was cool. Anyway, every year at Christmas time, they pull this picture out and put it up on their refrigerator. They even had it laminated for good measure, making it next to impossible to tear or cut up, as I had tried to do so many times years later. Now, it's become sort of a standing joke, that when I come to visit and go to open the refrigerator, I am stopped dead in my tracks by the deformed looking Santa (and is that his sack on his back or is he somehow related to Quasi Moto?) I always roll my eyes and make a crack about taking the picture somewhere very far away and putting it out of it's misery, to which my mom exclaims, " NOOooo- you leave that picture right where it is! Someday you'll have children and they'll make pictures for you and you'll think they're the most beautiful things in the world and you'll want to keep them too."

Now, let me be brutally honest: I've worked in several nurseries and done my fair share of babysitting enough to know that most of the pictures I've seen kids draw have been, well, the word ugly springs to mind. Some have even been downright insulting. A few years ago, I was in church and a little girl I used to babysit walked up at the end of the service and told me she had drawn a picture of me for me to have as a gift. And there I was: a long torso, midget legs, and fins for arms. I had a few strands of hair that were styled into a mullet and my forehead showed indications of a thalidomide birth defect. Yeah, real nice, kid. I'm glad to know that's what you think I look like. Somehow, I was able to mask my look of horror, forced a "thank you," and managed to take it all the way home with me, where Jake and I had a good laugh over it and it was then promptly placed in the trash can.

Instances like that, plus my disdain toward my mom's sentimentality over the Santa Claus/Hunchback picture fueled my belief that I would probably poke fun at my own kid's artwork someday too, (but not to their face, obviously). Ah, but parenthood seems to have a way of making us eat our words or pre-conceived notions. Ella picked up some crayons yesterday, so I got a piece of paper and taped it to the table and let her go to town. I was a little leary of leaving her with a box of crayons at her disposal, as only 2 months ago, I had tried to show her how to hold a crayon and scribble and she had instead found them more enticing to eat rather than to draw with. This time, however, she had figured out how to hold the crayons and had seemingly forgotten that they had ever tasted good. I watched her look of concentration as she figured out exactly the right angle to hold the crayon and saw how her eyes lit up as she began to make marks on the page. A few minutes later, I walked back over to find that she had even used several different colors and there were scribbles, zig-zags and curvy lines scrawled all across the paper- her first official piece of artwork. I almost had to stop myself from tearing up, but I suspect the pregnancy hormones were mostly to blame for that. Either way, it was beautiful and it was a part of her. And in that moment, I understood why my fugly Santa picture still adorns my parents refrigerator at Christmastime. Probably for the same reason that my mom has kept my baby dolls and barbies. They are reminders of her little girl as well.

So, I now resign myself to having my refrigerator and walls overtaken by my daughter's creative musings. The house is already covered in Fisher Price and Leap Frog toys, so why not go all out, right? Another milestone is reached and I am both the proud and sentimental Mama I swore I would never be. But I'm totally okay with that. :-)

Things I Wish I Had Known (A Letter to Myself)

A few months back, a good friend of mine asked me to take part in a project she was doing for work that aimed to uncover certain universal truths about the mother-child bond. In this project, her agency asked for women who are mothers to write letters to themselves the night/day before they have their first child. What would we tell ourselves? What things do we know now that we would have loved to know then? What legacies do we wish to carry forward with this next generation?

I jumped at the opportunity to write about the relationship I have with my Ella-bug and immediately dove into the recesses of my memory, trying to re-live the last few days, hours, minutes, before I was catapulted into "first time Mommy-dom," with it's steep learning curve, rollercoaster hormones and 3-a-night feedings. And as I reflected back, I realized that- excited as I was about meeting this tiny person who had been shoving her feet in my ribcage for well over 5 months- I had become afraid of her. I had heard one too many stories from (I think) well meaning people who told me that my life, as I had come to live it, was "over" once "that baby comes along." Things like, "forget sleeping in," and "I hope you enjoy infomercials because that's all you'll be watching at 2 a.m. when you're up feeding the baby," and "your time is the baby's" and "you'll forget what it's like to have a real date night with your husband...." reverberated through my head. In spite of all the wonderful things people were speaking into my life about becoming a mommy and how I would fall head over heels in love with this little creature (which I totally did), I instead chose to hang tighter onto all of the negative things. Isn't that the way it always goes?

And guess what? I lost sleep. A lot of it. I cried a lot in those first 2 months of Ella's life. But more often than not, the tears were happy ones (hormones, I tell ya, hormones...) I actually *did* get to sleep in, because I have a wonderful husband who would get up with Ella when it was obvious that I needed a break. And we started having "real" date nights again after about 6 weeks, when Jake's parents offered (and we gladly accepted) to keep her for us on a Friday or Saturday night almost every single weekend. To this day, she still goes over there one night every weekend and we still get to be "Kristin and Jake," not just "Mommy and Daddy."

I was scared for no reason. And as I started to write this letter to myself and reflected back on the last days before Ella's arrival, I realized that I haven't missed out on a single thing. Nothing at all has been taken away from me that I wouldn't gladly give up. (Obviously, because I'm about to do it all over again in 6 months. ;) ). Life is more rich because I'm Ella's mommy. She has given me more than I could have ever given myself in the 27 years I had before I knew her...



Dear Kristin,

You have been waiting impatiently for your little girl to get here for 10 months and 1 week now. Your labor has started up and then just as quickly fizzled out every day for the last week and as far as you're concerned, time could not be going any slower. But please, hold onto this moment. Enjoy feeling her move in your belly. Savor these last precious moments you have with your husband as just the two of you. Life is about to change dramatically in less than 24 hours. Yes, after 276 days of pregnancy, you have only hours left to wait. Don't rush this. Because once you hold your daughter tomorrow, time will never be able to go slowly enough for you. You will blink your eyes and the tiny 6 lbs 15 oz peanut you cradle in your arms will soon be an independent, spunky toddler who refuses to let you rock her to sleep. You, too, will become the cliché you swore you'd never be, who asks, “where did the time go?”

Right now, you are wondering how you could ever love someone as much as your parents love you. You've heard people talk about this kind of love, and though you would never admit it to anyone, you're afraid you may be the one exception. You worry you won't love her enough. But rest assured, your heart will break in a completely new way when you lay eyes on her tomorrow. You will dream bigger, pray harder, laugh louder and love more deeply than you ever knew you could. Jake will continue to be your rock, and though you might find that you disagree over the little things, remember that they are just that- little things. He will astound you in the way that he loves and cares for his little girl and your heart will be so full as you watch her eyes light up when he comes home from work. Please don't take him for granted. You will be emotionally and physically exhausted at the end of each day, but remember that he will be too. Lean on each other and your love will be stronger for it.

Now is also a good time for you to admit that you don't adapt well to change. You have a certain idea of how things should be once Ella is home with you. Be prepared to throw these pre-conceived and idealistic notions out the window. This is going to be messy- both in the physical and metaphorical sense of the word. Make the decision right now to adjust the amount of pressure you place on yourself. You will not be able to clean the house, fix dinner, take a shower and tend to all of Ella's needs, every single day. Your outfit may not be coordinated some days. You may not get a chance to put on makeup. This doesn't make you any less of a woman, and it certainly doesn't make you a failure. You are using up every resource available to you to take care of this little one and that in and of itself, is a beautiful thing. Don't stress about the pile of dishes in the sink or the dust bunnies lying on the floor. You have the rest of your life to clean up your house, but only so many years where she will actually want you to play with her. Get down on the floor with her at her level- every day. And remember that it really is okay if she doesn't go down each night right at 8:30 or if she doesn't finish all of her veggies. Be prepared to question yourself on a daily basis, regarding everything from over the counter meds to sleeping arrangements and discipline, but resist the temptation to carry around the infamous “mom-guilt.” Don't let yourself fall prey to anyone who makes you feel that you aren't enough. Remember that God has hand-picked you to be Ella's mother and thus, has given you a strong intuition specifically for her. Trust it and go with it. If you remember to do anything as a mother, extend grace as much as you ask for it.

No matter what you ever knew or thought you knew about God, you will experience Him in a whole new way tomorrow when you hold your newborn baby girl. You may, in fact, get just a glimpse of how much you are loved by Him. Your daughter will be a constant and precious reminder that life is to be lived. Get ready for the celebration.



K

Where did the time go??

Many transformations happen when you cross the threshold into motherhood. There's an obvious physical realm that many can recognize right away. Your hormones take a trip to hell and back- sometimes several times a day- for the first 5 months. Your husband will not understand this and will eventually resign himself to sitting beside you on the couch and gently rubbing your back every night around 8 pm while you cry for no good reason. The emotional rollercoaster continues as you celebrate the gains and mourn the losses that coincide with becoming a first-time Mom. Among the things you gain: insight, patience, a new-found respect for your mother, an overwhelming sense of contentment and a pretty amazing pair of boobs (which your husband also loves, but- much to his dismay- is often not allowed to touch). Among the things you lose: your precious REM cycles, sanity, some babyweight (if you're lucky), and the concept of time. Days and weeks begin to blur together and your life, at least for the first 4 months, is measured in 3 hour increments.

Then there are the changes that take place in the less visible- albeit very real- emotional realm. You realize that you have been forever catapulted into this new state of being and suddenly, there's an intense awareness that every reason for your existence is for this tiny person who depends on you for everything. You will spend minutes- that turn into hours- holding her while she sleeps, memorizing her tiny features, inhaling her sweet baby smell, listening to the rhythm of each little breath. You will wonder how anything in life can be so pure and good. But your heart will break like it's never been broken before. You will never again watch a news story about an infant being abandoned/left/beaten/starved without feeling outraged. Hearing tragic stories of loss will devastate you on a personal level and you will forever be haunted by the thought, "what if that was my baby?" Inevitably, you will dream bigger, pray harder, love deeper than you ever knew you could. You will watch in wonder and pride when she smiles for the first time....babbles...sits up on her own...pulls to a stand...laughs from her belly....reaches out to hug you...says "mama"....holds her own bottle...takes her first steps...and all the while, you will think, "I'm not ready for this. This can't be happening so soon." Before you realize it, you will find yourself on a playdate with a friend, reminiscing about big bellies, 2 am feedings and post-partum hormones. And you will shake your head in disbelief while uttering that famous mom cliche- "where did the time go?"

Congratulations. The Mom transformation is now complete.

But seriously, where did the time go?

I used to think I had a lot of time on my hands. A month before Ella was born, I had a little too much of it. (Go ahead and ask me what I was doing to induce labor. No, really). I used to pride myself on keeping track of dates, appointments, get-togethers, etc., and while I haven't always been the most punctual person, it was a rare thing for me to completely "lose track of time." (My dad, on the other hand, has this down to an art). Perhaps, for the latter half of my adult life, my Type A personality prevented me from ever not knowing what time it was, or where I needed to be, or when I needed to be there. But that was then, and whatever was left of that concept of time was more or less obliterated at 7:49 pm on June 13th, 2009.

Today, I am happy to announce that I am chronically 15 minutes late to just about everything. I am guilty of oversleeping whenever Ella does. I have forgotten doctor's appointments. On days that I could be out, I have defaulted to spending them at home, on the floor with my little girl. Because children beg for us to lose ourselves, don't they? To momentarily forget that it's 3:30 a.m., no matter how tired we feel. To forget where else it is we think we need to be, because whatever it is will always be there, and because maybe, something inside us knows that our babies will not be babies but just for a minute. They will only cling to our legs for a few days, really. They will only nestle their heads in the nape of our necks for just a few nights.

So, maybe my blog hasn't been updated for the last seven months, but as you can see, I've been busy trying to lose track of the time...