Conversations with a Toddler

Lily: "Mo?"

Me: "More what, lovebug?"

Lily: "Mo!"

Me: "I don't know what you want more of, sweetheart."

Lily: (punctuated with much gesticulating) "Mo!! Mo!! Mo!!"

Me: (snuggling her to me) "Hold on, bug. Remember what Daddy says? Use your words. What would you like more of?"

Lily: (after a deep breath) "Mo. Moo-zic."

Me: (with a sigh of relief) "Of course! Who ever wants to turn off Disney Toddler Radio?"

Conversations with Lily these days aren't always that easy to decipher, but I am so grateful for these tiny windows I get into understanding her desires and needs. There's nothing like the grin that spreads across her face when I finally grasp what she's saying and she realizes that she is understood. It might take a bit ("Ready... Go!" sounds an awful lot like "Daddy... Ball!"--especially when you're throwing a ball and watching the door for Daddy's arrival), but the success is all the more sweet thanks to the challenge it took to get there.

A few other recent gems (and some much-needed updated photos!):

Lily: "Sit."

Me: "That's right, honey, Bunny is sitting."

Lily: "Sit!"

Me: "Do you want to sit with Bunny?"

Lily: "MAMA! Sit!!"
Me: "Oh!"

Lily: "Shoes!!"

Me: "Can you kick your shoes?"

Lily: (delighted laughter)

Lily: "No."

Me: "But I love your taco costume, don't you?"

Lily: "No!"

Me: "Can we please wear it just for the parade?"

Lily: "Nawnawnawnawnaw!!!!" (Sound of masking tape unsticking.)

Lily: "Brella! Boots!"

Jeff: "Yes, Lily, it's a rainy day! Let's go find puddles!"

Lily: "Book!"

Granddaddy: "You'd like to read a book?"

Lily: "Yeah!" (Granddaddy sits on the sofa next to her.) No!"

Granddaddy: "No book?"

Lily "Yeah! Bankie! Ganny!"

Granny: "My pleasure!"

Lily: "Moony!"

Me: "Honey, there's no moon inside. Maybe there's one out--"

Lily: "Moony! Moony!"

Me: "There's definitely no moon in the fridge..."

Lily: "Moony!" (frustrated pause) "Mooth-ee!"

Me: "Oh! Smoothie! Yes! I got it!"

So, life is pretty joyful over here. Not all days, not all nights, not all meals, not all activities. But most of them are pretty amazing. We sit in awe of our little Peanut, daily wondering how in the world she's ours (and if she'll ever stop growing so fast!). I can't imagine what lies ahead...

Dear Lily: One day, you will hurt my heart.

Dear Lily,

This letter isn't meant to be accusatory or critical. It's not pessimistic or depressing. It's simply true: at some point, every daughter hurts her mama's heart. I know this because I have hurt my mama's heart--your Granny--in ways that now wound me to my core, in absent moments or missed hugs or calloused words that I hope never to repeat. But do you know what's remarkable? Your Granny still loves me just as much as she ever has; the wounds are there, but the love has sutured the bonds back together and perhaps made them stronger than ever before.

I say this to you now because--just today--my heart felt like it might just have to burst, unable to contain the love I feel for you. The moment was simple: we'd returned from running a number of boring morning errands and were in the somewhat tenuous minutes before your nap. You'd been a bit fussy all morning (likely thanks to your second front tooth coming in) and couldn't quite decide whether to whine or wiggle or just be your usual whimsical self.

And then you saw my red pot holder.

It was a simple enough choice: I was steaming your carrots while you ate a cold quesadilla from yesterday, and I needed to protect my hands from the hot lid of the pot. But I took a moment to note your curiosity in the large mitt on my hand, and, when "Yakkity-Yak" came on our Pandora Toddler Radio, I began to chase you around the butcher block. Your squeals of pure delight, your anticipatory giggles, your stomping feet and sparkling eyes were enough to keep me going, and so we sang and chased and tickled and peek-a-booed and finally collapsed in a hug on the kitchen floor.

And my heart felt ready to burst.

You are such a big girl now--you ask for our hands before stepping outside; you try to diaper your baby, Nee-Nee; you know when it's time to go upstairs for bedtime or nap and gladly lead the way; you stand beside me in your learning tower and mimic every action I do in the kitchen; you love to play house and grocery shop at the indoor playground. With each second that passes, you seem to grow more, and so I know that you will not forever be my carefree toddler, content to have your silly mama chase you around the kitchen with a pot holder. So these are the moments that I must remember when you are a teenager, when you're not sure you want to be seen with me at a movie or at the mall, when you ask if you can miss a family dinner to go out with your friends.

Because, my sweet love, when you hurt my heart, I will pick up a red pot holder to dry my tears, put "Yakkity-Yak" on the radio, and dance around the butcher block with your daddy until I laugh as loudly and joyfully and uninhibitedly as you did today. Most of all, though, I will want you to know that my heart will always overflow with my love for you, and nothing can change that.

With love that will never fail,
Your Mama

We're all good.

Whenever a long period passes on a friend's blog and I don't see an update, I worry. A thousand thoughts go through my head. So I thought I'd take a moment to say that we're all busy but all well in our corner of the world.

Here are some updates on the nearly 16-month-old (what?!?!) munchkin:

She's loving her furry siblings--she insists on hugging them constantly (which looks more like a WWE-style smackdown pinning of an opponent) and has just learned to call them "kit-TY!" with great delight.

Food comes and goes, but hits are always cheese, yogurt, and applesauce. We've discovered anything is better in a pouch, so thank goodness for the reusable ones I found on Amazon!

Jeff built Lily the absolute coolest learning tower--and Lily is in love. She particularly likes being perched in front of the sink where she can "wash" the produce that's soaking. 

After several weeks of stealing everyone else's doll strollers, Lily clearly required one of her own. She absolutely loves strolling Sug (her bear from Granddaddy) around the house and through the neighborhood.

There's nothing better than summer weekends outside. Thanks to gnats in our neck of the woods, Jeff has popped up our screened tent so we can spend long afternoons on the grass, chatting with the neighbors while Lily plays with the other kids.

So, that's us for the moment. Joyfully anticipating summer and happily being amazed by our daughter every day. Perhaps every toddler knows to clap along to "If You're Happy and You Know It" and hugs her pelican stuffed animal as she falls asleep and boogies anytime Zac Brown Band comes on the radio and gleefully shouts our best friends' daughter's name whenever she sees her, but Lily is our toddler, and so she is the only one who has ever done these things.

And that's okay, I think. :-)

Come visit me in Canada!

Just a quick note to let you know that I'm honored to be guest blogging over at The Canadian Housewife, my dear friend Jenn's blog, today. My post is in honor of National Infertility Awareness Week; this year's theme is "You Are Not Alone."

(Fair warning: if you're not already a reader of Jenn's blog, you just might get hooked!)

Dear Lily: Today, I felt like a mom.

Dear Lily,

We've had some really great days lately, my bugaboo. We modeled your new shades in sunny Florida:

And we tested out the open-air transportation available to us care of Granny and Granddaddy's golf cart on the island:

I loved spending two weeks with you and your Daddy, happily vacationing in the sunshine, soaking up time with your grandparents, testing out your newfound speed on two legs. Yet, in spite of those wonderful weeks, today was when I had a sudden burst of joy in feeling like the mama I always imagined I might be.

It was a simple enough decision: I picked you up after school under somewhat breezy but pleasantly sunny skies. I'd asked Daddy to dress you warmly enough to be outside; my original idea had been to take you to the town center and walk around a bit while I sipped a Starbucks. At the last minute, though, I decided to take a peek at a nearby playground I hadn't yet visited with you. To my happy surprise, I discovered a dozen exuberant children--many only a smidge bigger than you--and their assorted caregivers, all joyfully relishing in the early spring warmth.

And then came the moment. The moment I used to think about as I walked around the lake, the moment I used to daydream about as I made the commute to work, the moment that got me through the losses and the tests and the shots and the fear.

The moment I became just another mom on the playground, smiling at her daughter's antics.

You took the slide by storm, then tore off for the platform--the one specifically labeled as being for "5-12 year olds." It didn't stop you.

Finally, as your energy began to wane (in spite of numerous pit stops for Trader Joe's Cheddar Rockets), you found a safe spot, tucked beneath a platform.

Your head craned back, eyes wide, you studiously watched the bigger kids around you as they raced across the platform, hopped off one end, and rushed to climb to the top again. I imagine you were dreaming of being as big as them one day, but all I was doing was realizing my dream was sitting in front of me.

So, yes, as I type this, you're crying (again) in your crib. I haven't slept through the night in over three weeks, and the days aren't much easier, as you insist on being held or entertained nearly all the time. Today's experience on the playground didn't erase any of those facts (or make me feel any more rested!), but it did remind me of why this life is the one I've dreamed of for so long.

Of why you are the one I've dreamed of for so long.

With all the sleepy hugs I can muster,
Your Mama

Adventures in Lilylandia

Ever since Lily was an itty-bitty newborn a year ago, Jeff has referred to Lily's "Adventures in Lilylandia." They would take place with The Bub (Mama) and The Beard (Dada), and, apparently, they were going to be epic.

Fast forward to Lily's first birthday. In addition to "giving" Lily a year-long membership to Chibis, an indoor playground near us, we also wanted her to have something lasting. Enter the toy box.

I found this one at Bare Woods Furniture; since we Jeff didn't have time to build one, it was a good option that even included a slow-close latch. And Lily clearly approved! So, a few weeks later, we purchased it and started planning.

First, Jeff did some hard work with painting and "antiquing" it--he was worried it looked too much like it belonged at the beach, but I love it.

And then came Lily's birthday. We asked everyone who came over that weekend--and we will ask all those who we love who will be visiting in the weeks and months to come--to add a bit of themselves to a toy box that will take Lily to all the destinations she can possibly imagine.

Jeff started with "Lily's toy box," and it grew from there. On one side, came Lily's southern godfather's (which is really her godfamily's) hometown.

On the other side appeared Mommy and Daddy's hometowns.

The front got additional embellishment. From Lily's fairy godmother came Baltimore, FD (FairyLand), and, for some of our dearest friends across the pond, Jeff added London.

By the time we were done, Lily was more than ready to put our hard work to good use.

Now, for those of you lamenting, it's not finished. It's clearly missing Canada, her godmother's Virginia hometown, and several others. So, when next you visit, just remind us to hand you a brush and some paint, and it's all yours!

Dear Lily: You're (almost) 52 Weeks

Dear Lily,

I used to be so annoyed by parents who would say their child was "40 weeks" or "15 months." It seems like, past the point of 12 weeks, parents should start counting in months; past the point of 12 months, parents should start counting in half years; past the point of 3 years, parents should just count in years. And yet, as your first birthday looms on the horizon tomorrow, I find myself clinging to the hours, scarcely able to admit that you're no longer my tiny baby. Even throughout last week, as we'd encounter strangers at the grocery store or Virginia Kitchen and they'd ask your age, I was quick to reply, "Oh, she'll be a year next weekend." Because, just for today, you're still 11 months and change.

Today is your first birthday party--a small gathering of some of your favorite people, the people who have supported us and loved you since before you were born. In a few hours, there will be a flurry of activity as we get everything ready by putting finishing touches on your cake and dressing you in a very special first birthday dress from your granddaddy. But, right now, in this moment, you are sound asleep on my chest. It feels so much like those early days when I watched hours of Netflix on my phone while maintaining perpetual motion in the glider. Now, your body stretches beyond the length of my torso; your toes tap at my knees. But when I look at your face, lips slightly parted, eyes peacefully shut, breaths deep and steady--when I look just there, you are my tiny baby again.

This is the best present I could ask for, my love. Thank you for this morning of just us two, for these sweet snuggles with my baby Button. You can grow bigger tomorrow, but I'm so grateful you were willing to stay little today.

With love,

Your mama