D+T=Y(ou), Part 5: The Key

He handed her the key in the hot sweltering parking lot.  The exchange was so unceremonious, but what did she expect?  Balloons and hula dancers?  That would be a ridiculous amount of overkill considering how little they had spent for such a big thing.  But perhaps she expected something?  She thought as her t-shirt clung to her back and the sun scorched the part in her hair.
Her husband looked at her as she fingered the keys between her thumb and forefinger.  What had they done? They both knew this was meant to be a significant moment, but what now?
Their first house.  It was an impulse buy in another city, but that is how they often operated - on impulse.  As they walked to their car over the boiling blacktop they both wondered silently when the buyers' remorse would set in.  As they drove to Saint Anthony Place she wondered how she would ever find her way there on her own.  As they turned the key in the door they both wondered if they would be able to get ride of the lingering cat smell before their mothers came to visit.

As they used the bright orange key to shimmy the door open, they surveyed the place they had picked out with absolutely no consultation from their families or friends.  They saw dusty dull wood floors and paint colors that made them cringe.  They saw sparse patches of yellowing grass in the backyard and a dying Maple in the front.  They saw lots of projects, and sweat, and tears.  They saw work and arguments, and money no one had.  But neither of them said a thing.

What is most important to this story is what they DIDN'T see. 
At that moment they didn't see the relationship they would form with the hardwood floors that they would lovingly strip and refinish.  They didn't see that their mangled backyard would soon fill with lush green grass, flowering trees, a garden, sandbox, and patio full of friends.  They couldn't have known the sound of tiny padded pajama feet coming from across the hall into their bed at night, or how much they would appreciate the airplanes overhead and the sound of the local races in the distant summer nights.  She had no idea that the picture window in the front would become such an integral part of her morning as two little boys religiously waved her off.  They didn't see that there was so much love inside of them, just waiting for this house.  They didn't see that this love affair started the minute they turned the key in the jammed side door.

Years later when they would lock the door for the last time, they would leave the same way the entered.  Holding hands, operating on impulse and attempting to appear stoic, while wondering what they had done.  

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

To My Dear Sweet Miles...

If ever there is tomorrow when we're not together, there is something you must always remember. You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. But the most important thing is, even if we're apart, I'll always be with you.

 - Christopher Robin

Dear Sweet, Impulsive, Energetic Miles...

Where do I even begin?  Perhaps at the beginning...  You were my first baby.  With your striped onesie, balancing on a little red throne, I knew I would love you forever.  What I didn't know, was how quickly you would shed away the shell of a baby and turn into a gorgeous full-blown boy.
A boy with the energy to move mountains.
The passion to do something amazing - no matter how small it seems.
A year ago I wished for you words...language that we could share together - so that I could be a better part of your life.  I wanted to understand you, to help you, and to guide you.  I thought words were the answer. 
Now your words have flourished.  You talk endlessly. During church. During naptime. During dinners. And even while you're trying to fall asleep at night.  Your words fill my life with new meaning and something new to love.  When you give me your words, I feel like you're giving me a gift.
When we brought Liam home, you didn't have many words.  Almost no words.  Now we will be bringing home a new baby - a tiny sibling for you to bless with your words.  To sing to.  I hope you love them.  I hope you teach them everything you know about adventures, cars, and loving fiercely.
I hope you are the type of big brother that I know you can be.
I know you will be that type of brother.

I'll love you forever,
Your mama.

My Little Liam

"You are my angel, my darling, my star... and my love will find you, wherever you are." 

- Nancy Tillman, author of Wherever You Are

 

 

Dear Liam.

My Little Liam.  My cuddly, coy, talkative, baby Liam.  I have mixed emotions right now as I write this.  I'm so excited to see you in this new role - as a big brother - a teacher, a mentor, and a playmate.  But my heart breaks at the same time, as visions of you instantly growing up gather steam in my hormonal pregnant head.

I want you to know that you light up my world.  You light up my mornings when you stumble out of your room unreasonably early and hide behind your blankie with that sly little smile and puffy eyes.  You light up my downtime with your enormous pile of books you bring over and expect me to read if I sit down for even a second.  You light up our kitchen with the scraping of the chair across the tile floor and your endless array of questions, demands for chocolate, and insistent attitude to "help".   You light up my afternoons when you stumble out of the bedroom with the most impressive bedhead I've ever seen, and a need to cuddle for many minutes before starting our afternoon play.  You light up my evenings when you get out of your bath and insist on "cuddling a widdle bit" with just your towel on, because putting on jammies right away totally cramps your style.  

You are funny, and silly, and you dance like your dad.  

You are my baby.  My little Liam.

I know how this works, because it happened with Miles when you were born 2.5 years ago.   Very soon I'll bring home a baby.  I hope you love it, but I know I can't expect too much.  I know that you'll instantly seem like a full-blown teenager instead of the tiny bundle of 2 year old energy that I know now.  I know that you will change roles.  I know that we will all change.  I know that I will love you no less.  I know that we will all be okay.

So these next few weeks I'm going to hold you longer.  I'm going to make you cuddle more.  I'm going to squeeze you till you can't stand it.  Little boy, now is the time to cash in on huge piles of books you want read, because I cannot bear to tell you "no".  

Little Liam, I know you won't be my baby forever.  And that makes your mama sad.  Because at this precise moment, and even when I take it for granted, you are my baby...my sweet, tiny, toe-headed baby.  And losing that - although it is morphing into something else amazing - it feels like I'm losing a part of you... a part of us.

I'll Love You Forever, 

Your Mom

p.s. I hope you want to cuddle for many more birthdays.

Sunset

As a photographer I strongly dislike photographs of sunsets.  I realize this sounds incredibly snobbish, but I've never once seen a photograph of a sunset taken by anyone - myself included - and thought, "yeah, that's as good as the real thing."  It's like capturing a bunch of fireflies in a jar and hoping they stay as amazing through the nighttime - it just never turns out the way you imagined. 

But tonight I broke my "never photograph a sunset" rule.  It started because I was walking back into my house around 9:30 and I was incredibly confused by this intense weird light that was flooding through my windows.  I thought maybe a car's headlights were beaming straight through my blinds.  When I looked out my window I saw this...

 

I had to explore further...

 I ran inside to get my camera.  I couldn't put it down.  I have no idea what the recipe is for a perfect sunset, but somehow - tonight - everything fell into place.  Every cloud had a purpose.  I couldn't put my camera down.

 

And even then...even with everything falling into place, these pictures pale in comparison to what I witnessed.  As I look at these pictures I wish I would have never taken them...because what is in my mind is much more amazing.  Much more beautiful.  It's like I tried to catch ten fireflies and they are already wilting in a jar next to me.   I wish I could bottle the real thing up and send you each a piece of it.  I wish I had a way to share this with those I love and miss.  I hope that as the same sun sets on your part of the world tonight, that you will see something equally amazing so we can imagine we've shared it together.

The Mother

This past weekend was a sad one here.  With a number of Americans as volunteers, and a high-school aged American group on site, the news of the Colorado shootings affected a lot of people emotionally.
This weekend also marked the anniversary of a huge massacre that happen in Norway exactly a year ago, killing 77 people - most of which were teenagers at a youth camp.  That story is far from over, with a trial that is still going on, and a number of people wondering how there can be any sort of justice for something so devastating and calculated.

I'm pretty speechless.
I'm the type of person that will continuously play what I imagine the scene to be in my head over and over again - on repeat.  Then, I'm the type of person to take it one step further and plug my own children, or people I love into the scenario - as victims.
It doesn't make for healthy sleeping or eating habits.
So that's how my weekend started when I first heard the news about the movie theater shooting in Aurora.
Then my mind went somewhere else - somewhere it's never gone before.  To their parents.  To the victim's parents.  The parents who let their kids go to the late movie "just this once" on a week night as a special treat, or reward for good behavior.  Or the parents that knew their children, old and young, were going to see that movie, but had no idea what time and at what theater.

Then it got weird.
Because I started thinking about his mom.
When you're raising kids you worry all their lives for things that you can't control.  You worry about their safety.  You worry that they will get into a car accident, or that they will become a victim to bullying.  You worry that they could get kidnapped or raped.  You worry that a perfectly sound building could someday just give out while they're in it.  You worry that they'll end up on Girls Gone Wild, or that they'll someday discovery drugs.  You worry that they'll get hit by a drunk driver on New Year's Ever or that they'll make one terrible decision that could leave them injured, without working legs, or God-forbid, dead. Or you'll worry that one night they will go to the movie theater and never come out.
As a parent, you worry.
But it never occurs to you to worry that someday your son or daughter could create such terror and devastation in the lives of so many people within a matter of a few hours/minutes/seconds.
When you're watching them take their first steps and laugh at your funny faces, your dreams never go there.
How do a mother and father cope with something like this?
How will they ever heal or find happiness again?
It's easy to ask this about the parents that lost their children that night.  That goes without saying.
But how do you heal/cope/find happiness when you maybe feel like you've failed in the most devastating way possible?  When an entire nation/world is wondering what you're going to do, or worse - what you've already done?

Family Photos

Do you remember those family photos I eluded to a few weeks back?  The ones where Liam fell into a perfect Liam-sized black mud hole halfway through the shoot?  Well, we got the results and the photographer did an amazing job - muddy puddle and all. 
Lauren Rutherford is based out of Northern Ireland and will travel throughout all of N. Ireland and some of Ireland to photograph lifestyle sessions on babies, children, families, and weddings.  If you're interested in seeing more of her work, check out her blog here... http://www.laurenphotoblog.com/
In the meantime, let me share a little bit of my family with you...

And of course, my favorite....(deep sigh) swoon.

37 weeks, plus 1 day.

Today I am 37 weeks and 1 day pregnant.  Here - I have the pictures to prove it...

This pregnancy has been very different from the last in many ways, although I'm not sure how much of it has to do with my memory being distorted over time.  I never wrote much about my first pregnancy, and I don't think I took a single mirror picture.  I'm not sure why.  I'm sure there's some sort of psychological reason.
Probably because I gained a lot more weight, was trying to figure out how to mother a brand new toddler, and was pretty much just shell-shocked.
I was also under the delusion that the baby could come at any time after 36 weeks.
I had this idea that after week 36 I was just waiting for it to happen...which does happen for some people. 

Just not for this person.
Liam came at exactly 41 weeks - shortly after I went to the Midwife at 40+4 and she told me that nothing was happening "down there".  I cried...because I thought I was miserable.  The large African American nursing student gave me a big hug, held me tight, and called me "honey".  I went home and took a shot of castor oil - something my sister-in-law had claimed worked for her.
It worked alright.
I had strong early-labor contractions for 48 hours before the midwife - who I had called so often she was about to change her number - finally agreed that I needed to come in because it was just taking too long to progress.
Even then he wasn't too keen on coming out.
Stinker.
It was a total precursor to his personality.

But this one has been really different.  This little person is fierce.  I think he or she has been trying to get out of there since day one.  At least it feels that way.  I've read in a million places that movement should really slow down in these last few weeks.  I'm still waiting for that to happen.  Someone should tell the baby.

A gymnast.  I think I have a gymnast - or a stunt devil - or a dancer on my hands.
This time I actually have the braxton hicks that everyone speaks of.  I think they are induced by the back flips being performed in there at 11:00 at night.  This time my body is yelling at me to slow down.  This time I'm telling myself that I have 4.5 weeks until I meet this little person, which allows me enough time to not freak out, but also extra time so I'm not disappointed if he or she decides to take their sweet time.
I'm trying to embrace this pregnancy thing, because I think it will be my last.  I don't want to regret wishing it away.
We'll see if I feel the same way in 4 weeks.