A Letter to My Oldest, On the Occasion of Her (Belated) Birthday

I remember it.  

I distinctly remember that day at the end of April, and the 9 long months that went before it.  

I was young, barefoot and in a yellow cotton dress, and you, well, you were snuggled up there tucked under my rib-cage right below my heart.

I remember the first day that I realized that I was pregnant.  I was elated, overjoyed, and super excited.  And the funny thing is that I wasn't even scared.  I was ready for this new challenge, ready to tackle whatever it was that life would throw my way.

But like I said before, I was young.  

You were my first, and while I remember certain details of each of your siblings' births, it is yours that is buried the most deeply in my brain.  It is your birth, and your infancy that I remember every year when I wake up with the sun to the smells of spring and the songs of the birds.  It is you I remember nursing in the wee hours, no matter who it is that I am currently rocking back and forth in the dark.  

I remember  your big feet and your crazy shock of hair that stuck up off your head like a cocks-comb. I remember seeing you playing on the floor sometimes and just reaching over to pick you up just because you were you and you were mine.  I remember how I cried and called my dad the first time I cut your hair when you were 3 because it felt like such a milestone.   I remember your first day of preschool, and your last.  

And then things got complicated.  We moved to Hawaii, and then back.  And you stayed with your grandparents, and then here with me.  And we went through really hard times, and we went through really great times.  And I know sometimes it might not have felt like it, but you were always on my mind and first in my heart.  And sometimes I didn't realize that what I was doing hurt you or made you sad. 

But like I said, I was young. 

And then we grew up fast, you and I.  Jo was born, and then in quick succession, Gabriel, Jesse and Hazel Grace, 

and suddenly, I'm not so young, 

and neither are you.

And sometimes, no, often, I look back on some of the decisions that I made, and I cringe at the selfishness of them even though they were not intended to be selfish.  I never meant to hurt you or make you feel alone, I was just trying to survive...get by...and find my way in this world.  

So I guess in a way, we grew up together

Which isn't really the way it's supposed to be, and I'm sorry for that.  

But now I see you, a talented young lady, with the world in front of you, and I would be a fool to deny that who you are is a product of the life you've lived, and I can't help but be proud of you.

You are who you are mostly not because of me or anything I've done, but rather, to a great extent, in spite of me and everything I've done.  

So here you are, at the brink of adulthood, and I feel the time that I have with you slipping through my fingers like so much sand in an hourglass.  

And the Littles feel it, too.  As much as Jo wants to take over your room and your iPod, she's going to miss you like crazy.  And who's going to find Jesse's shoes?  And who's going to tease Gabriel like you do?  And who's going to play the guitar with Hazel Grace?  

And Daddy?  Well, let's just not go there.  I don't care how grown you may think you will get, you will always be his little girl...and don't you forget it.  

And so you can sigh, and you can roll your eyes and you can 'Moooommmm' me as much as you want.  I'm clinging to these last years that I have with you, and there's pretty much nothing you can do about it.

Over-protective?  

Maybe.  

But that's because you are beautiful, you are talented, you are intelligent, and you, my dear, 

My Elizabeth, 

Flesh of my flesh and heart of my heart, 

You are loved.  

Happy birthday.  

Oh, How Far We've Come!

A year ago today, in a hospital room not far from here, I lay dying.

My blood pressure was so low that I could barely breathe and the bleeding and contractions just wouldn't stop.  

My mother sat in a chair at the foot of my bed, and my husband sat by my head.  To keep her hands busy, my mom was knitting.  What she was knitting, maybe neither one of us really know, but she was knitting, creating, while I, her youngest child, was dying.  

The drugs they had given me made my mouth so dry I could barely move my lips, and my vision was blurry, so I could only sort of see out of one squinted eye.  

I couldn't raise my arms or my head, and so I had to twitch a finger so that Jimmy would know that I needed some ice to cool my body that was burning me from the inside out.  My hair was a matted mess on my head and my arms and hands were a web of wires and blown veins.  

'I don't want you to be a hero', my mom said.  

'I have life insurance', I said. 'Please take care of the kids', I said.  'Please keep them together', I said.  

She nodded and knit, counting stitches, counting seconds, counting minutes.  

The nurse had insisted that all was fine, while I insisted that all was not, and by the time the doctor came, it was almost too late.  

Thirty to 45 more minutes, he said after the surgery. Thirty to 45 more minutes, he said, and neither one of you would have made it.  The placenta was completely detached, he said.  It fell off in my hands.  

I could feel the stitches, I said.  It hurt so much and I felt every prick and pull.  Why didn't the anesthesia work?  I asked.

It did, he said, but I couldn't stop the bleeding.  You almost lost your uterus, he said, but I didn't want to take it.  That's why it took so long for me to stitch you up.  I knew you felt it, he said.  That's why I couldn't look into your eyes.  You would have seen my fear, and panicked.  

That's how well we knew each other by then.  Well enough to read the signs.  

He prayed over me before the surgery.  He prayed healing over me and steadiness of hand over himself.  His eyes closed in pleading with God to please let this one work out before he stood over me and asked me why I was here.  

He made me say it.  I had to force the words out between cracked lips.  

C-section.  

He wasn't being mean, he was following protocol, you know, to be sure he cut in the right place and did the right operation.  

And then the sharp blade bit into my flesh and through the small hole that he carved in my body, he drew out our tiny Hazel Grace.  All one pound, seven ounces of her.  

And that is where this story began.  This story of life, instead of death.  This story of joy, instead of pain.  This story of celebration, instead of sorrow.  

And we've come so far, Hazel Grace.  You and I.  We are a far cry from the limp bodies that the doctor prayed over.  We are strong, we are healthy, and we are so very very blessed.  

Happy birthday, sweet baby!  May God continue to bless and strengthen you so that this is just the first of many many happy birthdays.  Look forward, Hazel Grace, to the life that is ahead of you, and strive toward it.  But don't ever forget, small one, where you came from.  Don't forget how it all began.  Hold in your heart all the prayers that have been said over you, and know that you are chosen by God and destined for great things!

Hazel Grace, a few days after she was born.

Hazel Grace, today!

One a Month

In our family, we have a birthday every month from February-July.  Jesse was in February, and in March it was Gabriel's turn.  Then comes Elizabeth in April, Jimmy in May, me in June and Jo in July.  

Part of the 'resolutions' that I have made concerning our family is that we will be sure to celebrate everyone on their birthday.  Jimmy and I have been trying to reduce the 'gifty-ness' of Christmas, and so to compensate for that, we have decided to do more for each child's birthday.  We figure it means more that way anyway.  Each child can be specially recognized on their special day with a special day and their presents.

We can't always have a party on the actual day of the birthday, so in order to be sure that everyone can gather around and celebrate at least a bit on the actual day, we have started a new tradition of doing a special breakfast.  This worked even better for me since I had given up sweets for lent, and Gabriel's birthday falls right in that time frame.

Our weeks are often very busy, so we planned ahead and Elizabeth made a huge stack of pancakes on Tuesday.  She did a wonderful job on them!  They were perfectly formed and evenly sized with just the right amount of brown on them.  Beautiful!  We took those and wrapped them up with wax paper between them and put them in the fridge.  Then, Wednesday night, I whipped up a batch of whipping cream and put that in the fridge, too.

Thursday morning, I got up early and heated a stack of pancakes in the oven, leaving one cold to put on the top.  I cut a hole in the top one to put the number '3' candle in, and then stacked it on top of the warm pancakes, stuck the candle in and decorated the whole thing with the whipped cream.

Then everyone came downstairs and in their pj's we sang happy birthday, Gabriel blew out the candles and we had cake!  Pancakes, to be exact.  It was so much fun!

Next, we opened presents.  Well, actually, we opened present, singular because what I ordered for him online had not gotten here yet.

He was very particular about not ripping the paper, and finally he had to get some help from his big sister.

Yay!  A train puzzle!  He and Jo wasted no time in putting it together on the floor while I dropped Jimmy off at work.  It was a great start to a special day!

Then, when his other present FINALLY got here about 5 days late, he got to open that one, too!  I have a picture of it, but I can't upload it for some reason, but it's the cutest little guitar.  It's actually a musical instrument and not a toy, really.  It has metal strings and a very nice body that is white with different colored and sized polka dots all over it.  He absolutely LOVES it.  Elizabeth has a ukulele that we brought back with us from Hawaii, but that was more of a toy with the plastic strings that broke quickly and wouldn't stay in tune and he wore that one completely out, so we decided to go ahead and get him one of a little better quality.  He carries it everywhere and likes to take it in the car and strum it while he listens to and sings his favorite songs on the radio.  So cute!

So, we have not yet had an actual birthday party for him with a traditional cake and friends over and whatnot, but we did celebrate, and hopefully we can pull something together soon...before Elizabeth's birthday!

Happy Birthday, Jesse!

We celebrated Jesse's first birthday on Saturday and he was so cute!  Elizabeth made his cake and she also made a little one that he could dig into as well.  We figured that we didn't really want his sticky fingers in the big cake, so she made a little one, too.  They both turned out really well.

First, we had some pizza...

 Then Jesse began to wonder where his cake was!

 There it is!

 But he didn't really know what to do with it.  He touched it and started crying because he doesn't really like his hands all messy.  Any time he is eating and gets his hands dirty, he will hold them out for us to clean them.  But while he was crying, I took some of the frosting and put it in his mouth.  So THAT'S what that's for!  You could see the wheels turning in his little head...

...and this is how he figured out how to solve his messy hand problem!

  Smart kid!

But Gabriel was having a hard time waiting for the real cake.  We were all looking at Jesse and watching him eat his cake, and we heard 'Mommy, I don't want to eat this part' from Gabriel.

Well, of course not, silly guy!  That's the candle!!!!

Anyway, here's the cake.  It was half chocolate and half vanilla.  Yum!

Then, he opened his presents, and he love love loved them!  Especially this helicopter from Baby B.

So cute!  So fun!