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Dear little one,

I have this habit—after I’ve written something, I read it back to myself aloud.  A habit cultivated long ago by Dr. Cahill in AP English, senior year.  It’s helpful for me to check the flow of my words, and to spot misspellings or other errors. 

Why am I explaining this??  Because today as I sat down to write, I remembered that this is the week in which the tiny bones of your inner ear have formed enough to hear sounds.  So your little ears will be the first to hear this letter and anything else I write for that matter, for the next 24 weeks or so (and probably once you’re Earth-side too!)

Let’s hope you aren’t a tough critic.  Maybe we should set up a system—one kick means “that was awesome,” two kicks means “get back to work”—deal?

Speaking of kicks.  Last Friday night I was sitting with two of my sisters, eating a sub sandwich, when all the sudden you gave a nice hard kick!  It caught me so much by surprise that I said “Whoa!” and then had to immediately share the news with your aunties!  As if that wasn’t enough, when I snuggled up against your dad in bed that night, you gave yet another kick which was hard enough that he actually felt it! 

You’ve come a long way in just 16 weeks.  I’ve been feeling those little fluttery butterfly movements for a few weeks now, but now we’re up to the big-time stuff already.  This is the part of pregnancy that never ceases to amaze me.  It reminds me that though we are so intimately connected you feel just like a part of me…you are still your own little person who might take a notion to be still all day, or go to battle against the waistband of my pants.

I’m counting down the days till I can see your blurry outline on the ultrasound screen again (only 11 more to go!), and in the meantime I’m embracing this growth spurt we both seem to be in.

Everyday you become more of a reality…but always still the dream of my heart.

Love,

Mama

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

Dear little marvel in my belly,

For one glorious month you were a secret from the world.  You grew from embryo to fetus during that time (though always a baby in my mind).  This was no small feat to accomplish in silence and darkness and secret.  The day I found out your soul had taken residence in my body, this poem came to mind.  At just 22 days gestation your heart began to beat, and just the thought of that made my own heart beat faster.  I love to think of your little heart, beating wildly inside my body, bringing nourishment to your miraculous small form.

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in

my heart)i am never without it(anywhere

i go you go,my dear;

Today was my first visit with the midwives.  I saw the most caring nurse practitioner, who put me right at ease about every symptom I’ve had, every little worry I’ve been experiencing.  But my favorite part was when she put the doppler to my belly, and instantly your galloping heartbeat could be heard.  There was no searching around, no uncertainty at all…just the sweet sound of you.  Thank you for being in just the right place, little one. 

i fear

no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want

no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)

and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

Love,

Mama

{“[i carry your heart with me(i carry it in]” by e.e.cummings.  I took the liberty of mixing up the lines a little bit, but the full poem can be read here}

Dear Phoenix,

In a flash another year has gone by.  In less than a month’s time you will be 2 years old, and quite frankly, I don’t know if my heart can take it.  You have grown up so much recently, using 2 or 3 word sentences, singing songs (both real and made up), and still attempting to do everything Zion does…oftentimes successfully!  Both your dad and I are completely amazed by you.  Several times a day we look at each other after looking at you and all we can say is, “Can you even believe this child??  Can you believe how smart/funny/beautiful he is??”

It is still so incredible to me how different you are from Zion, or anyone else in the world for that matter.  To see your unique self emerge day by day makes me feel so privileged.  It’s like witnessing a butterfly being freed from a cocoon—you were this helpless baby who just cried and stared and cooed and smiled…and now you run and dance and have feelings you can express in words and song. 

One thing we have in common which I find pretty funny and also special: we are both serious night owls.  Last night you could not settle down in your crib even after Zion had already drifted off to sleep in his bed nearby.  It was almost 10:00pm and I was still up too, so I picked you up and brought you to the living room.  We had a cup of water together and I asked if you wanted to read some books.  Normally this is not something we do very often as you don’t like sitting still for books.  But last night was different, you sat so nicely through 3 books and asked for me to read one of them twice!  Then you walked over and picked up a few of your trains for us to play together.  All the while you were telling me story after story about trains and cars and your babydoll you love to carry around.  Though I could only understand bits and pieces of these stories, I could sense the amazement in your voice when talking about your favorite things, and it made me smile with excitement for you. 

Eventually I knew the fun had to be over so I picked you up to carry you back to bed.  Desperately you clung to me saying “But wait, but wait!” and with a cry of exhaustion you laid your head on my shoulder.  It’s little moments like that I relish the most.

It is also those little moments where I have to stop for a second and look at you…really really look at you…and remember how fleeting this all is.  I get to spend such a short amount of time with you before I release you into a world of wonders for you to behold (“But wait, but wait!” I want to cry!).  I held you for a few minutes and I whispered to you “One day you’re going to ride far away on those trains, you’ll drive a car cross-country, you might even hold your very own little baby.”  You replied, in typical Phoenix-fashion…”Yep”. 

{Me and my first baby.  The last photo of me with my four year old!}

To my Zion, Zizou, Zi, squishy, sweet boy, cutie, and most recently “Beckham”,

“The days are long, but the years are short”: a phrase I always considered mere cliche, until you entered my life.  Looking back on these 5 years it seems like I just snapped my fingers and we got here.  Then I look a little harder and I remember the sleepless nights, the hours of nursing you, the hard days of setting boundaries and being the “bad cop”, the worries and cares of each and every long day of being your mama. 

Every year on your birthday, your life flashes before my eyes.  It goes from the plus sign on a test, to those early days of a weak stomach and cups upon cups of peppermint tea.  I see your little heart flashing in black and white on an ultrasound screen.  Do you know at only 9 weeks gestation you were pulling your umbilical cord?  One of those little things I found so fascinating and I will never forget.  I remember hiding your existence as best I could, until the truth could wait no further.  I remember vividly my first memories of your touch—your soft fluttering deep inside me, just to let me know you were there and it would all be okay. 

I remember the long naps with my windows open in September.  The breeze would be so cool and I would do just what my midwife said: lay on my left side and slowly massage my belly and offer soothing words to you.  I would tell you how sorry I was you were going to enter the world this way.  I would tell you how much I loved you, even though I wasn’t sure I understood the meaning of the word.  I knew you were a boy before any ultrasound revealed it.  From the beginning I knew you. 

Your dad would lay beside me sometimes, I would wrap my arms around his back with you between us.  From inside my belly you would kick his back, making me laugh.  You still love to come between us when we hug. 

I remember the stress of moving back to North Carolina when you were heavy in my belly.  I remember crying through most of the flight, feeling my stomach clenching around you with early contractions.  The young man sitting next to me asked if I was okay.  I think I probably told him too much in my grief—I told him I had to say goodbye to the father of my baby, your daddy, and I was due in two months.  I told him you were a boy and your name would be Zion.  The place where God dwells. 

I spent a night in the hospital after Christmas, the stress becoming too much and you trying to come too early.  In that night I was afraid.  I wanted you to be healthy and I didn’t want to fail you from the start.  We pulled through and you decided to wait a little longer.

I remember speaking to your dad on the phone, the whole eastern seaboard separating us.  I remember telling him I was DONE.  I couldn’t sleep or move comfortably, I was swollen, I had to pee all night long.  He told me to get out the Bible and turn to the Psalms and read to you.  It always relaxed him, so I did what he said and read to you almost every night.

I remember spending the last weeks with you inside surrounded by my mother (Zanni) and father (Pops) and sisters.  You amazed your aunties with how you could roll around in such a small space.  We prepared the home with love for your arrival.

The last night you were in me—January 20, 2007—your dad and I spoke on the phone as usual.  We were speculating when you would come.  I told him I was sure I had more time…maybe around Valentine’s Day?  He said he would tentatively make plans to fly down around then, and we’d hope and pray he’d be there for the big moment. 

I remember waking up the next morning, a Sunday, with signs that it would definitely not be weeks till you were born.  Everyone was at church already, so Zanni and I headed up to Chapel Hill on our own.  We talked and laughed and were filled with excitement and nervousness.  Around 6 hours after we arrived, you were born.

Your first year was tumultuous and wonderful.  You watched me and dad get married.  We took a train from NC to Maryland to a new home we had never seen.  We learned to survive together as a family out in this brave new world. 

In the past three years we’ve returned to NC, you’ve grown ridiculously tall and smart and beautiful.  I tell you every day you are my special boy.  I tell you these stories I’ve recorded here in simple terms that you understand.  I want these memories to be ingrained in you, as a part of you.  I want you to know that from the beginning you were destined to be in this family, that you returned me to life and happiness…you are, as your dad calls you, the son of our joy. 

I have cried a little today thinking of you turning 5 tomorrow.  While it pains me to let go of the past, it is also exciting to watch you grow and become.  As I told you tonight before bed…I hope you grow into an old old man one day.  I hope I get to see your children and grandchildren.  I hope our feeble attempts at parenthood will one day produce a man of integrity and sensitivity and strength. 

I thank God everyday that he allowed me to catch you.

Love,

Your Mama

Dear Zion,

This is you, my dear.  Four years old, part mad scientist, part famous soccer player.  All dreamer.  Everyday I watch you come up with new ideas from that wild imagination of yours and it is just amazing to me to think how far you’ve come in just a few short years.  I tell you this all the time, but you really are the light of my life.  You make me genuinely laugh with this stuff you come up with. 

I’ll be honest, my biggest fear is you growing up and losing this sweetness.  I pray every day that it doesn’t happen…that no matter how old you are or how cool you think you’ve become, you always have a place for making a person smile, or reaching out in empathy with a hug. 

You are my wonder child, my little golden boy, the son of my heart, the joy that brought me back to life.  All of these grand epithets for such a little boy, but I mean every one. 

I asked you today if you are proud to be you…you replied most matter-of-factly, “Of course I am!”.  I’m happy you are proud, Zion, cause so am I.

Love,

Mom