Dear Vivian {Month 4}

Dearest Daughter o' Mine,

Well, here we are. It's the ninth again. I love that each month for the rest of my life, the ninth will be extra special to me. It won't pass without acknowledgment of your beautiful birth and delightful presence in our lives. It won't pass without acknowledgment of another month on this journey, our hearts marked by each joyful and tearful moment.

4 months old, Osh Kosh B'Gosh

A month ago today you were scheduled to have your heart surgery. For two and a half months leading up to that day I had been mostly unconsciously planning--planning to get it over with and behind us. But at the eleventh hour there was a crowded hospital and babies who needed more urgent care than you. And so we were given the gift of time. Time to play and cuddle and eat and walk and of course, squirrel watch.

Six weeks of extra time seemed like soooo long. But as I'm learning each day, time has no plans of slowing down. And so, here we are again, anticipating a day I can't really allow myself to imagine. The understanding of its impending arrival sits in my peripheral heart--I just can't really let it in. And that's okay.


Because, sweetie, we've got things to do, people to see, music to listen to. You and I have been decorating the house like mad. Projects that stopped mid-stride in August are being picked up again. Truthfully, most of my decorating happens while you're napping, but you seem to show an appreciation of the progress as we walk around the house and I show you what I've done. I have two friends with whom my pregnancy with you overlapped. Their little boys have made beautiful entrances into this world and the six of us now enjoy each other's company. We moms chit chat while intermittently feeding, holding, rocking, playing and changing diapers. It's lovely because the three of us had planned moments like this when you kids were just twinkles in our eyes. These days you and I love listening to The Innocence Mission's lullaby album, The Sundays and of course we will forever love listening to the Weepies. It was what was playing when you were working your way into this world and though it took me awhile to listen to it again without feeling melancholy, it is most definitely the soundtrack of our journey.

One night I swaddled your dad in our comforter. That was pretty funny. To us, at least. You guys looked pretty awesome together, all swaddled and cozy. Then daddy pretended to be you, houdini-ing his way out of my swaddle. Like daughter, like father.

Swaddled Sweeties

I am so pleased we were able to spend Thanksgiving together. You were snuggled and then snuggled some more by the people who love you most over the span of Thanksgiving weekend. And whether we were eating turkey or pizza, it was the togetherness that so perfectly marked the holiday. I'd love for Thanksgiving will be "our" holiday. Christmas is great, and I'm sure you'll be lured to adore its showiness in the coming years, but it is Thanksgiving that I will remember as your first holiday at home, cozy and cuddled with sweet and savory smells filling the house. We are so thankful for you.

Thanksgiving Moments with: Granny, Uncle Mike, Grandpa & Grandma, Mom & Dad

I hung some pretty ribbon above your changing table and then clipped some photos and cards to it. You've always enjoyed getting your diaper changed, but as soon as this decoration went up, your eyes flitted around joyfully, looking and exploring and most often settling on the photo of your sweet dad bringing your sweet swaddled self over to me in the hospital bed right after your birth. You look at this photo like you understand and remember. You smile as I say things like "There's daddy, and that's Vivian and there's mommy, right after I pushed you out. That's the moment we became a family, Vivian. You remember, don't you?" And you'll smile and coo and have this look in your eyes that says "Yeah, mom, I remember."

The picture you love to look at when you're on the changing table

The other night your amazing, sweet-as-pie dad said something so cute. He said to me "I don't want Vivian to grow up too fast, 'cause she already is, but won't it be fun to take her for swimming lessons? I want to start her early so she's not afraid of the water." And I smiled because I had this vision of you and dad in the pool, splashing and blowing bubbles and kicking (you'll be a great kicker!). And I enjoyed this contemplation of your future. In my effort to stay in the moment and keep the ever lurking worry at bay, I rarely allow myself to think about your future in specific terms. It's not that I don't have beautiful hopes and dreams for you, but I can't seem to separate the worry from them. I guess that makes me different from most mamas. It's all about the right here, right now. Which is a mixed blessing. So I loved that your dad shared this thought with me. You two are going to be so cute in the pool together. Dad looks much better in a bathing suit than I do, and you of course look cute in anything.


So, Miss Viv, off we go. Into the unknown. I'm channeling our little buddy Scaredy Squirrel as I get brave and ready to jump.


I love you, little lady.

Your slightly nutty-still squirrel obsessed-but ever-loving,
Mama