Friday, November 20, 2020

A Poem for Indigo at 8 Years Old

Waiting for him to fall asleep (a nightly struggle) and felt the urge to get these thoughts down. So in lieu of my annual letter, a poem.

How did we get from zero
to eight 
in a blink of my eyes?
From hurricane and raptor cries,
to--suddenly--
first time around the block all alone?
How did we get from chubby hands and wide eyes
to this tangle of gangly limbs curled up in a pile of sheets and stuffed animals, each beloved, named, with a history all its own?
From those first nights in the dark,
warming you by candlelight,
to watching you struggle to fall asleep,
the anxieties of the world upon your shoulders,
and in your dreams,
never far, not this year.
But I promise you this,
sweet worrier/warrior,
I too will never be far
when you need me.
And you will go from 8 to 18
in just another blink of my eyes.
from awkward boy to tall young man,
ever passionate, ever seeking, ever wondering.
Ever my baby boy.

Friday, May 15, 2020

A Letter to Cyan at Three Years Old

Dear Cyan,

This isn't the third birthday we envisioned for you. Saturday was supposed to be a joyous day for you as well as Periwinkle and Indigo as they celebrated their First Communion. Big to-do at Dave & Buster's, which would have been AWESOME. Looks like it'll be a beautiful day, anyway. And we are going to make it an awesome birthday! Covid-19 can't stop us from celebrating you and how much we love that you have been in our family for three whole years. There will be cake, and presents, and balloons, and a drive-by parade, and it will be fabulous.



You've come a long way this year. Twelve months ago, we had some concerns about your language development. Now, you're talking all time. "Bartleby on mommy's phone please?" "I want to go outside!" "More hot dog please!" "Yogurt pouch, please!" "Leo no baby!"




Any time you see a baby picture of yourself, or of your siblings, you start yelling that you are not a baby anymore. You can be quite emphatic when you want to be. You're a big boy now, for sure. But can we get back on that whole potty-training thing? Like, pronto?



And while usually you are smiling and giggling and being a little imp, you have also discovered your temper. I fear you look to your siblings as role models for that, among other things. All three of you need a chill pill, though I know that it's a bit tough right now.


But you do adore them. Periwinkle and you have baked several batches of cookies, wearing your aprons and chef hats, and eating half the dough before it hits the oven. She plays games with you, and has trained you as the puppy she longs for. Indigo still isn't quite sure what to do with you, but there are times all three of you spend hours playing outside together. He loves you, trust me.







You've been adoring having them home all the time. I think you believe pandemic quarantine is the best thing ever. Sometimes you do "work" alongside them, though unfortunately you've been spending a lot of time watching tv or playing alone as I try to get them to do their assignments. There's a lot of yelling, from them and me, and I'm sorry about that. But you seem to roll with it, as with most things in life. I showed you the circle time from your daycare class one day, and you started screaming, "No! I stay home!" so going back to school, whenever that is, is going to be rough.




You can count to twenty, sing many songs including the ABCs, and know your shapes and colors. You know how to make your toys work and when to ask for new batteries. You love your race cars, trains, and bouncy balls.



Mickey is still your favorite, and I'm sorry we likely won't get to meet him this year. I don't think I trust you to wear a mask in 80-degree heat. Luckily, you don't know what you're missing, so I'm more upset than you are. Maybe next year?




You also love Bartleby, the cat from "True and the Rainbow Kingdom." You get so excited about the Wishing Tree and singing the songs. Daddy has also gotten you into the original "Duck Tales," so that's pretty sweet.



You weigh 38.5 pounds, and I should probably measure your height. You have a doctor's appointment next week, but I need to check if that's still a go.




Everything is on hold, it seems, but not you. You continue to learn and grow and bring sunshine (and some thunderstorms) to our daily lives. You're still my little sidekick, even if we can't go anywhere. I love you, Little Hulk. Just please start sleeping past 5am again. I know the gate is off your door, but that isn't an open invitation to come downstairs in the middle of the night.

Love always,
Mama

Wednesday, March 18, 2020

A New World

It's been nearly a year since I last posted. I completely missed Periwinkle and Indigo's seventh birthday, and Cyan is nearly three. We've been busy with preparing for First Communion, dance practice, soccer, basketball, gymnastics, Cub Scouts, Girl Scouts, swim lessons, open gym for Cyan, and a million other things.




Except now it's all stopped. Someone hit pause on our lives, and we are all in suspended animation waiting for them to hit Play again. Cyan's first trip to Disney...postponed. Peri's recital...who knows? Do I print communion invites? Do I brave the outside world with my suppressed immune system to deal with two troublesome teeth or just suck up the pain? And of course there's the constant worry and anxiety about much loved older family members.


I'm not sleeping great. I wake up most nights and fight myself back to sleep, trying to think about anything other than this bizarre new reality. The uncertainty. The lack of anticipation and optimism I feel. I stay up too late watching mindnumbing tv to delay the moments between waking and sleeping. I've always hated those moments, even as a kid. That's when the boogeymen come out and shadows seem like nightmares. And as an adult with three kids who are confused and worried themselves (well, maybe not Cyan), those shadows seem even darker. So, yeah, night isn't my favorite these days. It reminds me of how I felt when Cyan was in the NICU and I felt utterly helpless and scared. I want to do something and make this whole horrid situation go away.

So I've been focusing on keeping up their school stuff. It's hard for them to focus when tv and games are right there. Peri blazes through, but Indigo needs more prodding. There's been some yelling. We've let things slide from one day's schedule to the next. We're figuring it out as we go. I'm looking forward to getting more solid direction from the school. The worksheets sent home aren't that exciting, but I know the teachers did what they could with little notice. The school system has been fantastic.

Today we went for a hike and examined the natural world around us. We listened for different bird calls. Don't ask me what types of birds, but there were several. We watched an angry and protective swan charge at two aggressive geese, chasing them across the street and eventually across the pond. He was strong and fierce and majestic, and likely protecting a nest somewhere. 

I sympathized. I would fight some geese for my kids too. But how can I fight this invisible virus?

Tuesday, May 14, 2019

A Letter to Cyan at Two Years Old


Dear Cyan,

It’s almost impossible to believe that another year has flown by, that you will be TWO, that you are a toddler and not a tiny baby any longer. And then I remember how busy you have kept us, how exhausted you have made us, how much you have made us laugh, and how much you have changed, and it all makes sense.


Cutie one year old


You are still definitely Baby Hulk, although perhaps you need an upgrade to Toddler Hulk or Mini Hulk. You enter a room and assume everything in it is yours for the taking. We go to the library for “Fun with Toddlers” or “Toddler Hunger Games,” as I call it, because that’s how you seem to view it—every man for himself, and don’t get in your way. We also go to the library for story time, but you don’t have time for that. You want to run, and jump, and destroy. So we usually don’t make it past page four.







As your new daycare teacher put it, “He puts his hand on my mouth, says ‘shhhh’, then goes back to destroying the room.” But she loves you, as does everyone there, as do your old teachers at your old school. It was a tough decision to switch you, but I think it was the right one. I get sent all sorts of happy pictures, and they are so excited to have you. They remember you from when you first escaped the NICU, a tiny five pound nugget, and they begged us to send you there so they could watch you grow. And now they can.






And how you have grown. Your face may still say “baby,” but your stature says older. People are often shocked when I say you are just turning two. “He’s so tall!” “What a big guy!” and yet you are perfectly on the curve, not much different in size than Indigo was at your age.





You rarely walk—you run in your own unique way, knees high, bouncing along. I could watch you chase your siblings all day. The three of you have such fun, until they decide they are done and go upstairs, and all you want to do is follow them. I know it’s tough, and the age difference won’t be easy, but they do love you, and I love how you love them.




You still adore swim lessons and your teacher, J. He gets such a kick out of you and trying to understand what you are so pointedly telling him. You are pulling up on the wall and kicking on your own, and I am incredibly proud of you.




You are a huge talker, though a lot of it is still in a language only you understand. But you are adding words every week, and I think we may have squeaked in at the finish with the “required” fifty words by age two. We’ll talk with your doctor next week and see what she says, but I’m hoping our earlier worries about your language development were just paranoia. Of course if you need help, you will get it. I love the way you say “Hey!” and “shoosh” (shoes), and “Yeah” like you are the saddest boy in the world. You say “There it is!” with such joy and surprise, and “Go!” with determination. I can’t wait for “I love you.”



I especially like how you say “Mickey!” because he is just your favorite thing in the world right now. You carry around little figures of the characters like they are made of gold, and the tv shows are the fastest way to chill you out at Indigo’s baseball games or Periwinkle’s soccer games. I wish we could take you to Disney during this magical time. I hope you still love him when we can.



Maybe my favorite is “Hug,” which you say as you run to people to snuggle them. Sometimes you try to use it to avoid going to bed, but often you want to take your nap so much you say “Night night” and grab your loveys and pacifier and meet me at your crib. (That pacifier, or “chooch” as you say, aka “chuchetto” in Italian, is going away soon. Sorry, kiddo.) I just put you to bed and out you go, whether for naps or night. People can’t believe you are so easy! *knocks wood* I’m hoping when we finally finish our reno and move you to your OWN room upstairs at long last, you’ll still love your sleep. Tonight I gave you a pillow for the first time. You seemed pretty excited.

You still rock a hat at age two

So I guess my point here is that you are an incredible ball of energy in our lives, and watching you learn and grow has been one of the true pleasures of the past year (and the year before, of course). I love having you as my little sidekick when you are not at school.

Never stop thinking the world is yours for the taking, but maybe learn to share just a *little* bit?

Love,
Mama

Thursday, October 25, 2018

A Letter to Indigo at Six Years Old


Dear Indigo,

Here we are, six years old. You are taller, more confident, more grown up. I sometimes see a shred of my baby boy, when you let your emotions run over you at bedtime and release all your pent-up worries in a torrent of tears. I wish you weren’t such a worrier. I know how exhausting it can be.

You are doing awesome in first grade. I’m amazed at how quick you are solving math problems and reading. No more spelling words at Daddy that I want to keep secret from you, because you are going to pick up on all of it now.

Cyan just adores you. He was so excited to see you after a week apart. Remember you’re the big brother and he’s looking up to you. I know he can be annoying and loud and break things, but try to be patient. He’s learning how to human, just like you are.

You did great on our trip to Disney, other than a few melt downs. It happens. We all have moments where we get tired and overwhelmed. You made a great Beast. I love your confidence. It’s like you don’t even consider being nervous or scared of doing things. And Space Mountain? Yikes!!

Gymnastics is still super fun for you. You are a regular ninja out there! I’m so glad you found an activity you truly enjoy. 

I just love watching you discover new things and learn more about yourself. It truly is amazing to watch you turn into a full-fledged person, even if it means you are taking tiny steps away from me. You say you never want to leave home, not even for college, and while I know that won’t stick, I still enjoy hearing it. My arms will always be open for you, little boy, because you have stolen a piece of my heart forever.

Happy birthday!

Love,
Mama

A Letter to Periwinkle at Six Years Old


Dear Periwinkle,

You are six. How did that happen? How are you in first grade? I hope you always face the world with the confidence you do now. Don’t lose it, baby girl. The world may try to tell you that you have to, that girls shouldn’t believe in themselves as much as you do, that you shouldn’t do certain things because you are a girl. Just tell them to shove off, and do it anyways.

We just finished your first trip to Disney, and though you had moments where I wanted to pack you back up and send you home, you amazed me with your bravery. Space Mountain? The intense Mission: Space? Seriously? You are an adrenaline junkie ready to take on the world. Just stay safe while doing it.

And I was proud when your teacher told me that despite missing four days, you were the only one in class raising their hand during math class, and you got every answer right. You’re also doing fantastic at reading these days. You are a smart cookie, and I hope you continue to be proud of that fact. Don’t dim your brightness for anyone.

I do wish you’d stop instigating trouble, often with an attempt to hide a smirk and an indignant “What? I didn’t mean to do that.”Or that you’d admit when you’re in the wrong instead of doubling down and lashing out. But we’re working on that. Growing up is tough work.

I often forget that you are only six, just out of toddler clothes. You speak with such authority and attitude, especially about baking and horses, your two great obsessions these days. But then you believe with such passion that Mickey and Minnie are real, and that Cinderella actually lives in that castle, and that the Tooth Fairy really brought you all that money, and you are a tiny girl again.

Stay little as long as you can, baby girl. I’m not ready for you to stop believing.

Happy birthday!

Love,
Mama

Wednesday, May 16, 2018

A Letter to Cyan at One Year Old


Dear Cyan,

I remember so much about the week you were born with vivid clarity: looking over at you as you were weighed, snuggling with you in recovery, our perfect afternoon before it all went south, the debilitating spinal headache, and the rising sense that something was very, very wrong with the way you were eating.


The weeks that followed are more of a blur: mornings spent holding you in the NICU, listening to the doctors at rounds; nights spent watching mind-numbing TV shows until all hours just so I didn’t have to face that inevitable moment when I would get into bed and have nothing to distract me from worrying about you.



I look back on the letter I wrote to you during that time, when everything seemed hopeless, and it feels like yesterday. But mere days later we had the worst/best day ever, when I walked in and saw you with a tube again, and I broke down in tears. A nurse comforted me, handed me a homemade blanket to snuggle you with. The primary doctor who was caring for you told me “sorry” with such sadness in his eyes, and said they would keep looking.


Only hours later, that same nurse convinced the doctor that rerunning a certain GI test was a good idea, and then that same doctor entered the room with a huge grin: “We found the problem!” In what was both a rush of activity and a long wait, you had surgery, you were done, you were on your way to recovery. The entire team felt such relief at solving you. I am forever indebted to them.


I haven't looked at this photo since the day I took it, after your surgery. It still amazes me how small you were, and how strong. You impressed the doctors and nurses with how easy-going you were, how relaxed, and, of course, how cute. You are my little fighter, my trouble-maker, my heart. 

The months since you came home have been nothing but joy. You have a smile that attracts people from across the room. I can’t count how many people have commented on that smile in stores when we run errands. They smile right back at you, your joy now their joy.







You and I have had quite a year together. Quitting my job was one of the best decisions I ever made. It allowed me to watch you grow, day by day, minute by minute. We got to do library programs, swim lessons, go on walks, read books, cuddle on the couch (though there’s no keeping you still these days). We have become a bit attached to each other, which is why daycare was a good idea. I think you like it. I hope you like it. I do miss you, but it’s nice to be able to get things done in chunks longer than your naps.






You have recently figured out standing on your own, and lately clapping as well. You are a speed demon when you crawl. You have even take a step or two before falling into my arms. I’m still working on getting you to say “Hi” and wave. You really only say “mama” and “dada” and “baba” and “nana,” and I’m not sure you say any of those with intention, but I know you will get there. You love your brother and sister, and even though they sometimes say you are annoying I know they love you too.






You get very excited when we put on “Baby Signing Time,” and I’m not ashamed to say I use it to keep you occupied while I do some chores or cook dinner. One of these days you will start signing, but for now the way you jump with excitement when you know I am putting it on makes it worth it. You adore the cats, even though they are a bit wary of you. They have let you pet them, though, which is a Big Deal.





In short, you are exactly where you should be, despite your rough start. I cannot imagine our lives without you and that smile, that excitement, that giggle. You have taught me so much in only a year, and I can’t wait to see what your second year brings!



Love,
Mama