Dear Lulah {year 3}

Dear Lulah,

Last month, on the 18th, we celebrated 3 years with you.  This last month my mind and heart have been full of thoughts about you at 3 and wondering if it is even possible to put who you are and what you mean to us into words.

Lulah, without a doubt, you make life better.

Trying to describe you just makes me smile.  You are simply so full of life that it all spills out on to everything you do.  When you laugh, you laugh loud.  When you love, it is fierce and intense yet so achingly soft and affectionate.  You are a story teller and a performer.  You are a quiet place, lost in thought and stillness.  You delight in helping and serving.  When you are upset, it's with a passion that could change the world.

You are my wild and free child.  You let every ounce of life and emotion move and roll through you, sometimes all within the first hour of the day.  You are not persuaded by expectation or approval, yet you are often aware and in tune with the emotions of those around you.  You just know how to be and feel the moment you are in. 

There are certainly times where my energy is drained from the teaching and the correcting and just the sheer presence of so much emotion.  But baby girl, it's beautiful.  I see so much of me in you.  You hold me to the kind of mother I want to be.  You keep me at the feet of Jesus in the best way possible.  You keep me parenting from the heart.  There is constant learning and stretching and forgiving and loving and laughing, so much laughter.  You give me a new perspective on life every day.  I am just so unbelievably thankful you are mine.

My prayer is simply that I never allow myself to get in the way of you being the you God created.    

You are a treasure.

Love,
Mama

Dear Ida {month 4}

Dear Ida Ruth,

Four months here and you continue to make it near impossible for me to live out of any other place then pure gratitude and contentment.  Some how you continue to get sweeter and some how I keep falling even more in love with you.  We all do.  With your constant wet slobbery chin and chest, your wide open gummy smiles, your wild cat sounding laughs and squeals, your bashful grin when you meet someone's gaze, your frequently increasing need to be chattering and spitting and blowing bubbles during your waking hours and with all your 18 pounds of squish typically resting on my hip.  You are such a delightful and peaceful baby.

So Ida, there is this certain space.  And it's my favorite.  It's a place I have occupied with all my babies, but with each one it's become more sacred, more treasured.

There's not a whole lot in my bedroom, but there's a lot that I love.  A vanity that was my grandmother's, where lots of hair gets braided.  Resting on a shelf above a long, short dresser is a wooden sign I painted for your Papa that says, 'We were together, I forget the rest'.  Next to the sign sits a pitcher filled with dried Eucalyptus leaves I can still smell as I walk by.  On top of a tall, narrow dresser, there's a jewelry box your Papa gave me our very first Christmas together.  Next to that dresser is a rocking chair that was my other grandmother's and it sits facing the corner of the room next to my side of the bed, a bed with a beautiful headboard built by your Papa.  Then there's a small wooden cradle tucked in the corner.  No matter how infrequently you use it, it remains my favorite thing in the room. 

At least once during the day, instead of nursing on the couch, sun room, back porch, or wherever else the beautiful chaos is going on, we slip into our room and close the door.  I lay you in the middle of the bed and curl up next to you resting on my side.  You usually giggle and roll onto your side facing me, full of anticipation because you know what's about to happen.

As you nurse, I sometimes close my eyes and rest.  Thankful for either your sisters peacefully and contently playing or for your Papa who sometimes works from home.

Other times I simply take it all in...

The perfect fit of your little body curled into mine, the silky softness of the inside of your hand, the satisfied noises you make as you fill your belly with milk.  I take in the peace of this room left simple and full of love and meaning.  The way it fills with filtered sun light because of the covered porch off the side of the room that holds the windows.  A large double window, framed with white linen.   Through that window I see the umbrella of branches of a 30 year old cherry blossom tree, the swings it holds, the mud kitchen where your sisters spend the majority of their days, and I can see the turquoise fence of our garden just starting to be filled with new green for the summer.  It's a bonus gift when I hear your Papa on the porch listening to music or your sisters giggling and swinging under their tree or creating forts in the azalea bushes.

Ida, your Papa and I have dreams and ideas for our growing family.  And it might not always include this room or this view.  So I'm going to keep soaking all of this in and sing thanks for every ounce of these days.   For all my dreamer ways, one saying I've come to hold dear and true is that the grass is greener where you water it.  So those plans, goals, and dreams for the future, those are fine and they are fun.  But it's these stolen moments with you that remind me that I have no complaints, it's the gentle shower watering the green of these days.  I treasure this time, in this room, with walls that just so happen to be painted a color named, 'tranquility'.

Love,
Mama

Dear Lucy {year 5}

Dear Lucy,

It’s been five years since we first met.  It was such a long and exhausting labor.  50 hours of waiting and praying and working.  And then you were here.  We had a few name options, but in seconds of you being in my arms and realizing I had a daughter, we knew you were Lucy Pearl.

You made me a mother.  But it really took that first year.  You see, labor, delivery, breastfeeding, hormones, it was all harder than I expected.  I didn’t quite know what to do with this foggy brain, aching body and enormous, consuming love. 

Within a few months we had worked out our breastfeeding woes and had found a beautiful rhythm that brought rest for all of us.  But inside my heart, things were just beginning to transform.

Months after birthing you, I was still left feeling raw and vulnerable and trying to reconcile who I was with this new title and identity I now carried.  But the Lord is so good.  He stayed by my side, held my heart, wandered through the house with me, sat in the backyard with me, just gently trying to remind me that my identity was still that I am His.  The sacrificing, the selflessness, the wisdom, the patience, that this mother thing requires…He will take care of that.  To be the best mother, I just need to be me.  A me that is listening to the One who created me.

In my 5 years of motherhood, it has looked like swerving and then coming back to that truth over and over again.  It is that truth that allows me to look ahead at the future with a sweet anticipation and not an anxious worry.  It is that truth that lets me look back at your first five years with a peace and a fondness and a knowing that I was fully there, I gave you my truest self, mistakes and all, and I let the Creator’s voice be the loudest. 

Lucy, this little start of our journey together has been the richest, most life changing experience and I am so grateful to be on it with you.

Your name means light, and it could not be more appropriate.  Your days are spent blazing ahead, leaving a trail of light.  You are curious to know everything and you are anxious to learn how to do everything.  So often I’m thinking to myself, ‘no, no, she’s not ready for that.’  But I step back out of your way, and with a quiet confidence and a laughing smile, you do it.  Teaching you at home has been a gift and I am looking forward to starting kindergarten with you and continuing to just follow your lead.

And my dear, you are such a brave little one.  In the last year and half you have been diagnosed with juvenile arthritis in your left knee, celiac disease, and early signs of uveitis.  Even writing it out, it seems like a lot.  And it certainly brings back memories of challenging times and the terrible feelings of not knowing what was going on in your little body.  But Lucy, you handled it all with such a positive attitude and grace that is well beyond your years.  Long drives back and forth from Atlanta, needles, procedures, pain and discomfort, the sudden inability to partake in certain foods that kids around you were eating…we rarely heard you complain and you weren’t going to let anything keep you down.  Every doctor you met with immediately fell in love with you and were equally impressed with your calm, steady, fearlessness. 

At one appointment, you set there calmly as they stuck a long needle into your knee to drain the fluid and then stuck another needle in your knee for the steroid shot.  After the doctor was finished she asked you how in the world were you so brave.  Your simple and sure response was, ‘because God is with me.’  You weren’t trying to being cute or to say the right thing.  You just meant it, you believed it.

That is what I want for you.  I want that truth to burn so true inside that you never have to doubt it for a second.  Because I will not be the one to be right beside you forever and ever.  I will not be able to ease every hurt and struggle you ever have to face.  But He will.

The third and latest diagnoses we received was the uveitis, swelling in the eye.  There wasn’t much there, but enough to plant that tiny seed of doubt and fear.  When I received the news, you were still driving home with your dad from Atlanta.  I sat in the living room while Lulah played and Ida slept in my arms.  My mind started going down the road of imagining the worst and wondering what would your future look like if those things happened.  My chest started aching and my eyes burning with tears.  And then like a sigh of relief, I felt the comfort of the Lord as if actual arms were wrapped around me.  He whispered to my heart, I am the one that brings fullness to life and full her life will be.

Lucy, I believe him with all my heart.  You are filled with light and strength and bravery and kindness.  As a daughter, as a sister, you are pure delight and I could not be more proud of who you are.  Our lives are better because of you. 

Lucy Pearl McDowell, here’s to a joyous celebration of your first five years!

Love, Mama

 

 

 

Dear Ida {month 3}

Dear Ida,

A week ago yesterday marked your 3rd month.  The weekend was filled with family while we also celebrated your cousin Martin turning 6 years old and your Great-Grandma Grant turning 90.  You met lots of family for the first time and either grinned, slobbered, or slept while you were passed around and squeezed on by everyone but me.  I didn't mind sharing.  Perhaps my favorite part though was when all 40+ of us gathered for a family picture and you, the youngest of her 16 great-grandchildren, sat in the lap of my 90 year old grandmother.

You continue to be a dream.  A 16 pound, slobbery dream.

You have a belly laugh that sounds like it belongs to someone who's been here a lot longer then 3 months.  It is the most delicious sound.  And you are already initiating some serious conversations.

Your smile is both shy and confident.  And it doesn't take much to catch one from you.  It's the first thing we all see when you wake.

You are such a delightful baby Ida Ruth. 

It's funny how this happens.  How we had no idea there was this giant Ida Ruth hole in our family until you arrived and filled this space and we all realized we had been waiting for you.

I'm excited to introduce you to Spring my dear.

Love,
Mama

 

 

Dear Ida {month 2}

Dear Ida,

Even though I am at the beginning of my motherhood journey, there is no doubt that I have already learned first hand that years are simply a series of mere blinks.  So these months?  I dare not fool myself to think there are so many ahead of us before you turn one.  Here we are at month 2.

You are weighing in at 13 pounds and 5 ounces. 

You smile like crazy. 

You started laughing and truly cooing. 

Besides faces, you love looking at the black and white mountain photo I took in Colorado, as well as a yellow pillow case with little white flowers. 

You light up when you are sung to, sometimes trying desperately to sing back. 

I've never seen a baby try so hard to suck their thumb.  You just can't quite release your little clinched fist and if you do succeed, the result is often a stray finger to the eye or nostril.  But you keep at it my dear.  Good for you.

You also experienced your first cold.  Stuffy nose, gagging on mucus, coughing fits, and sitting up with you at night.  But you handled it all beautifully.

The thing is, all the new stuff you are doing, all the new rolls you are growing, all the new sounds you are making.  It isn't very newborn anymore.  Blink.  Just like that.  Always moving in the only direction time travels, and that is forward my dear.

We are finding our rhythm, and it is a sweet one.  One that keeps events and activities limited, but keeps in abundance home and family and rest.  One that fully requires all hands-on-deck and a lot of grace when we do leave the house.  But our days are good baby girl.

I am thankful for the deep peace and contentment that comes from the Lord.  I am thankful that, even in the tired and the adjusting, it allows me to realize what all I have right now and to celebrate it while I have it, not just when I look back.

We are still celebrating you Ida Ruth, and your perfect fit into our family.

Love,
Mama

 

 

Dear Ida {month 1}

Dear Ida,

I suppose I'm doing good to write your one month letter seeing as you've been here now for 6 weeks.  It's not that the last 6 weeks have been frenzied and chaotic, quite the opposite of that actually.  It's just that my arms have been full.  And when there is quiet and time to just sit, I only want to hold you and stare at you and eat up all your sugar and soak up all of your baby smirks and smiles.

Since your swift entrance on Thanksgiving night (something I will write more on later), life has been completely normal and routine, yet at the same time suspended in a bubble of slow-moving intoxicating bliss.  All at once, every 9 pounds and 6 ounces of you filled a spot in our family that we didn't realize needed filling.  And we can't get enough of you.

You have brought with you a peace and a reminder of all that is important and what truly holds value.

Your Papa, your sisters, myself...we are just so madly and completely in love and smitten with you my dear.  You are never without someone wanting to hold you.  Lucy tells me she could hold you forever.  Lulah traces your face with her finger as if she is touching the most rare and precious treasure.  Your days end in the arms of your Papa, some quiet alone time before he brings you to bed.  And me?  I can't stop holding you.  I just don't want to put you down.  When you are in my arms I am filled with warmth and gratitude beyond belief. 

Your first 6 weeks have been magic.  You kept our holidays simple and slow and our calendar cleared of almost all activities.  And it was a gift.  And a reminder that as your mother, I will fight for a Christmas free of the noise and clutter so that you and your sisters can see and feel and know the truth.

I think that what you have reminded me of the most is that motherhood is pretty much colored by my own attitude.  My attitude determines how I view a house full of an almost 5 year old, an almost 3 year old and a newborn.  It could be easy to just focus on how much I'm pulled in every direction, how much energy is needed to meet so many needs, to meet all of your needs, how it all effects me.  But my goodness, when I give thanks for being able to fill your belly with milk, thanks for getting to calm and soothe you just by holding you close, thanks for getting to spend my days as the witness to all of your firsts, to the growths and new moments your sisters experience as well, it is when I give thanks for all of that, that I receive so much more.  Then my days feel light and the moments treasured.

E.M. Bounds says, 'Gratitude and murmuring never abide in the same heart at the same time.'  I saw this a few weeks ago and it struck me how true this is.  To wake up with grumbling and murmuring about how hard my night was or how hard today is going to be, then I leave no room for the gratitude I have for this role I have been given for the gifts that you and your sisters are, and that would be a tragedy.  So I lean on the peace and patience that comes from the One who lives in me, the One who created me, the One who gave me you, and I give thanks.

Ida Ruth, I have nothing but joy and anticipation for every moment with you.

Love,
Mama

{These were taken at one month.  You were 12 pounds and 22 inches}

 

 

 

 

39 Weeks

Dear baby,

39 weeks and a day. 

There's nothing really to make me think I will be holding you this week, even though your sisters did make their appearance by this point.

It's strange, this holiday week.  While everyone around me is entering a season where life gets busier - calendars fill up, travel plans are made, lists grow longer and more urgent - here we are, just waiting.  I feel a little frozen in my own bubble of time. 

All of our prep work is done, our calendar has been cleared, we've settled into home, into the four of us, ready...just waiting for you.

There is certainly part of me that wants to hurry up and meet you.  To get to know you and for you to get to know me, your papa, your sisters.  To introduce you to all the amazing people in our life.  But my true self knows, I know not to wish these last womb days away.  These are sacred days and what I do with them will be a part of your story.

So I will settle in to the waiting, not with anxiousness and hurry, but with peace and assurance that your arrival is already known and has been planned by the One who created you.  My days will be filled with our ordinary routine, with pockets of quiet and reflection and waiting.


I am so incredibly thankful for you.

Love,
Mama