Falling Down
My Precious Child,
On Monday, you fell the deck stairs onto the concrete - face first. You smashed your beautiful little face onto the concrete with the momentum of the fall cascading you forward into a somersault. You landed in the most twisted, contorted position, the majority of your weight falling on your neck. I stood there for a second, frozen in fear. It felt like I was about to throw up my heart. Your daddy and I ran over to you. He scooped you up and we tried to comfort you. You wailed for a minute or two, gashes starting to bleed across your nose and forehead, as I ran inside to grab Cortisone 10 (your Nana swears it's miracle cream and I try not to defy your Nana).
By the time I got back outside, you were smiling - swinging away on your little play set. You, my brave hearted girl, are a kind of strong I've never been. You've got a pain tolerance that must of skipped a generation. I watched in awe as you continued on with your evening, acting as if nothing had happened.
But even with your strength, even with the clear evidence of your resiliency, I can't shake the image of you falling off of those stairs. It was an awful reminder that life changes in seconds. Tragedies happen in the moments that people had expected to be simple and ordinary. Then suddenly - their world stops.
There are so many things I love about the age you're at right now (almost 16 months). You are saying a dozen or so words, making animal noises, identifying body parts, pretending to "read" your books, running, climbing, discovering the world in ways that I had forgotten about since I was a kid myself. As a mother, I try to be patient and kind and gentle. I try to show you every second of the day how much I love you. But I fall short often. I snap at you for not listening to me. I become so frustrated when you're fighting sleep that I'm near tears, begging you to nap, bargaining with my toddler that if you just sleep I'll do something so fun with you when you wake up. It's not a pretty sight. I get overwhelmed and irritated and even angry.
It's okay to feel angry, baby. It's okay to feel sad or frustrated or lonely or disappointed. You don't always have to feel the warm, fuzzy emotions. I pray that you get to feel positive most of the time but please don't feel obligated to fake good. You can and should allow yourself to feel whatever you're feeling. Give yourself permission to do that. Identify what you're feeling and navigate it. It's human to feel less-than-spectacular some days.
Seeing you fall off those stairs gave me perspective. It reminded me that in those moments when you are defying me, scratching me, screaming at me - even when the frustration is building in my chest, rising through my cheeks, and into my head - it's going to be okay. You're okay. I'm okay. We're okay. There is a lot of tragedy in the world but this isn't one of those moments.
You're fussing in your crib right now. I hear your exhausted, half-hearted whimpers as you continue fighting your nap. I can just picture you rubbing your eyes, playing with your eyelashes, anything you can think of to keep yourself awake. Little stinker. You're strong willed, no doubt about it. I keep reminding myself that will serve you well in your 20s.
You are my treasure, my joy, and my sun. I will try every day to protect you but there will be moments when I can't or shouldn't. You will need to fuss in your crib sometimes. You will need to fall down. You will need to feel those less-than-spectacular emotions I mentioned earlier. It would be unfair to you to save you from every unpleasant experience. You're mad but you're alive. Alive with a wit, a will, and a wonder that has me falling more in love with you everyday.
My promise to you, my sweet girl, is the same as the day I met you. "I won't always know what I'm doing but I'm going to do my very best."
Love Always and Forever,
Mom
On Monday, you fell the deck stairs onto the concrete - face first. You smashed your beautiful little face onto the concrete with the momentum of the fall cascading you forward into a somersault. You landed in the most twisted, contorted position, the majority of your weight falling on your neck. I stood there for a second, frozen in fear. It felt like I was about to throw up my heart. Your daddy and I ran over to you. He scooped you up and we tried to comfort you. You wailed for a minute or two, gashes starting to bleed across your nose and forehead, as I ran inside to grab Cortisone 10 (your Nana swears it's miracle cream and I try not to defy your Nana).
By the time I got back outside, you were smiling - swinging away on your little play set. You, my brave hearted girl, are a kind of strong I've never been. You've got a pain tolerance that must of skipped a generation. I watched in awe as you continued on with your evening, acting as if nothing had happened.
But even with your strength, even with the clear evidence of your resiliency, I can't shake the image of you falling off of those stairs. It was an awful reminder that life changes in seconds. Tragedies happen in the moments that people had expected to be simple and ordinary. Then suddenly - their world stops.
There are so many things I love about the age you're at right now (almost 16 months). You are saying a dozen or so words, making animal noises, identifying body parts, pretending to "read" your books, running, climbing, discovering the world in ways that I had forgotten about since I was a kid myself. As a mother, I try to be patient and kind and gentle. I try to show you every second of the day how much I love you. But I fall short often. I snap at you for not listening to me. I become so frustrated when you're fighting sleep that I'm near tears, begging you to nap, bargaining with my toddler that if you just sleep I'll do something so fun with you when you wake up. It's not a pretty sight. I get overwhelmed and irritated and even angry.
It's okay to feel angry, baby. It's okay to feel sad or frustrated or lonely or disappointed. You don't always have to feel the warm, fuzzy emotions. I pray that you get to feel positive most of the time but please don't feel obligated to fake good. You can and should allow yourself to feel whatever you're feeling. Give yourself permission to do that. Identify what you're feeling and navigate it. It's human to feel less-than-spectacular some days.
Seeing you fall off those stairs gave me perspective. It reminded me that in those moments when you are defying me, scratching me, screaming at me - even when the frustration is building in my chest, rising through my cheeks, and into my head - it's going to be okay. You're okay. I'm okay. We're okay. There is a lot of tragedy in the world but this isn't one of those moments.
You're fussing in your crib right now. I hear your exhausted, half-hearted whimpers as you continue fighting your nap. I can just picture you rubbing your eyes, playing with your eyelashes, anything you can think of to keep yourself awake. Little stinker. You're strong willed, no doubt about it. I keep reminding myself that will serve you well in your 20s.
You are my treasure, my joy, and my sun. I will try every day to protect you but there will be moments when I can't or shouldn't. You will need to fuss in your crib sometimes. You will need to fall down. You will need to feel those less-than-spectacular emotions I mentioned earlier. It would be unfair to you to save you from every unpleasant experience. You're mad but you're alive. Alive with a wit, a will, and a wonder that has me falling more in love with you everyday.
My promise to you, my sweet girl, is the same as the day I met you. "I won't always know what I'm doing but I'm going to do my very best."
Love Always and Forever,
Mom
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