Tuesday, November 25, 2014

Lily Letter #13

Dearest Lily,

I'm sorry. I'm sorry I haven't taken as much video, written as many letters, had your picture professionally taken, or worked on your baby book as much as I did for your brother. I am really sorry. Unfortunately, I don't think I can promise to change my ways. I simply don't have the time or wherewithal to do all of that business as diligently as I used to. You see, it's like my friend Trina says: "One kid is one kid. Two is twenty."

So with you came an avalanche of more work. I changed to an exponentially more challenging job about two days after I found out I was pregnant with you, and then, well, two kids. Or what might as well be twenty. So you will not likely grow up with scads of memorabilia neatly organized into piles and boxes and cd's and flashdrives and frames. You will have some. It will have to be enough.

What you will grow up with is a big brother. And one that worships you and with whom you will create so many memories there won't be room for the artificial stuff I could purchase or create.



You will grow up with a mom and a dad who are busy but make it that way because they want to cram AS MUCH LIFE into each moment as humanly possible. And for you, that means a life full of parties and people and loved ones new and old. It means knowing about your community and being a part of the big picture in a way that can't be replaced with trips to Toys R Us, which we abhor and will never make time for. Sorry.

As for you, you're nothing short of exceptional. And I'm not just saying that because I'm your mom. You are brilliant. I tell people all the time about the things you can do, which are grossly boring to them but utterly fascinating to me. For about the past six months, since you were about 15 months old, you could hold a pen properly and draw. And not just scribble, but make circles and representations of bunnies and copies of things you see in books. Oh, and the books. You carry one under your wing all the time, sort of like the character Petunia. You eat dinner with "Old Man" (a little silly board book of "This Old Man" tucked under your chubby thigh. You make me read 100 books a day, and that doesn't count what your teachers are submitting to at school.

We have long said that "You be little, but you be fierce." We sort of knew from the very beginning that you are a woman of will. You're sweet and good, but you know your own mind and you don't do what your'e not really interested in doing. Your brother, who is sweetness and light and all sensitivity, can be talked into cuddles and kisses, but not you. You cross your arms and say "NO" until you're darn good and ready to share some lovin' with us. I think this will serve you well, Daughter.

You're gorgeous, also. This may serve you well, but I have my concerns. Your big brown eyes can easily become a substitute for action. If you get what you want with those, why work harder on your skills? Be careful, Daughter, with those eyes.




It's almost Thanksgiving, which means its almost Christmas, which means we are gearing up to show you a REALLY GOOD TIME.  Here is hoping you don't scream on Santa's lap this year. Or, to be honest, here is sort of hoping that you do.




We love you to the moon and back. And then some.

Thank you for being the loveliest, most amazing creature.

Always,
Mama






1 comments:

Phil Bradley said...

Santa hopes you are not pinched this year!

Post a Comment