My dear little Mae,
I remember the day we found out that the little baby cooking inside of me (you) was a girl. It was a brisk fall day. All four of us were in the room at the doctor’s office. For the longest time, you were being shy. The tech couldn’t tell if you were a boy or a girl.
And then she could. And my heart practically exploded.
Sometimes when you have one or two children of the same gender, people will assume you want one of the other. But I was elated when I found out. But I was also a bit confused.
We had our Magoo. Our intelligent, kind, empathetic Magoo.
And we had our Goosie. Our passionate, determined, inquisitive Goosie.
Didn’t we already have it all?
I simply could not fathom another little personality.
And then we met you. And I looked at you, and it’s almost like I said, “ah yes. You. It’s you who we were missing.”
You fit like a glove into our little family. We were calm. You were peace. You were sweetness, and you brought so much joy. I remember being so confused when your sisters were born — what was I supposed to do? How was I supposed to mother? Should I hold them or rock them or sing to them or read to them?
But with you, I knew the answer. I knew the most important thing I could do for and with you was to be for and with you. I would cuddle you for hours. If I didn’t need to be doing something (which sadly, wasn’t often enough,) I would sit back on the couch and I would lay you across my chest, and we would chill. Perhaps I would watch television or knit or read or talk to Daddy. It didn’t matter what I was doing. I just wanted you with me.
I think somewhere inside I felt both a synchronicity with you as well as a foreignness. On the one hand, you fit me. It would feel as if you had never been born; you just melted into me. Our hearts would beat as one. Your very presence would loosen the tightness in my muscles, relax my breathing. Allow me to just be. But then also there was your peace. That’s what I remember most about you as a baby — you were my idea of peace. You would smile and cuddle and babble and play, but always, always you were peaceful. And to me, that felt foreign.
It’s two years later, and I think Goosie might think you have lost a bit of that peaceful nature as multiple times a day, you will walk up to her for absolutely zero reason and hit her (quite hard,) but nevertheless, your essence remains.
These days you won’t lie across my chest unless you are ill. These days you want to run and explore. You want to chase your sisters. You want to try to look the cat in the eye and see how long she will allow you to stay that close to her. You want to empty bins and unravel yarn and climb everything. Everything. You see the world and nothing frightens you. It all excites you. It’s yours for the taking.
And we can see a bit how you have always been the baby of the family. When I reprimand you, you look at me with a look of betrayal. Your jaw drops, your lower lip quivers, you look me in the eyes waiting for me to say, “No! It was all a mistake. I could never yell at my dear little Mae!” But when you look at me and realize the apology is not coming, you burst into tears and need to come and get a hug. Your little heart wondering how anyone could possibly think you could do something wrong. But when I ask you to apologize, you do. And your tears dry and your frown fades. Because you don’t hold a grudge, my dear. You let it go. Just like your favorite song that you like to repeat endlessly, “le-it goooo! le-it gooo!”
Just as I was about to take your sister upstairs to read this evening, I looked over at you. You were trying to climb up on the big bouncy ball. Each time you would do a whole body flip, fall down, and then stand back up giggling. You don’t let things keep you down. You aren’t easily frustrated. You are ridiculously quick to laugh, slow to anger, and easy to please as long as we are not out of graham crackers or milk.
Ultimately, you are you. The same you who filled our lives two years ago tomorrow. You are just a bit bigger, a bit stronger, and a bit more sure of yourself.
I would be lying if I said I wasn’t sitting here tonight mourning the loss of your first two years. How did they go by so quickly? But always I must remember that as each year fades into the background, more of you emerges. Each new day, each new experience brings you closer and closer to who you are meant to be.
And that is beautiful. That is the bittersweet.
That is how I felt yesterday as we left Barnes & Noble. You had walked so proudly all on your own up to the register. You listened to everything I asked you to do or leave alone. You looked up at the cashier, and you gave her your smile, waved, and said, “goodbye.”
You were so little. So innocent. And yet you were becoming.
The baby who had become the toddler was now showing the slightest hints of even more.
Take this world, my dear. It is yours. Shine your light on it. Let your peace be infectious. Smile at all it gives you to smile about.
And be yourself. Your crazy, infectious, giggly little self. It’s infectious. Infect the world with your love. Make it a brighter place. I need you. It needs you.
But always remember… Daddy and I… we loved you first.
