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

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

The Night Before Cyan's First Day at Daycare

Why does this feel so much harder than last time?

Could it be the 11 months Cyan and I have spent together, all day, every day, Monday through Friday (and then weekends)? Shopping trips, doctors appointments (his and mine), you name it, we were together. Not to mention his fraught first month in the NICU, which probably isn't helping either.

I only got three months with Periwinkle and Indigo, and it was basically survival mode. Was the bond just not as strong?

Could it be the way Cyan cries for me if he catches the slightest glimpse of me or hears my voice? Will he be crying for me all day? I know the answer is "no" but I can still picture it, him surrounded by strangers, hysterical.

Periwinkle and Indigo didn't get this attached until well after daycare started so it didn't feel so horrible dropping them off. And their attachment was equally to Blue. Cyan definitely has a mommy habit that we need to break or at least soften.

Could it be simply that he is the baby of the family, and quite likely the last kid?

Or maybe it is that this time it is much more a CHOICE. Five years ago I had a fulltime job in the city I had to get back to. My freelancing was not flourishing as it is today. They had to go to daycare. This time around, I/we have decided that maybe it's a good idea, two days a week (yes, just two days a week, and I'm still a bit of a mess), to let me have time to fully focus on work instead of having to work here and there in moments when he is asleep or eating in his high chair next to me, or at night, or while at the older kids' practices, or while they are at a library program. Maybe my sanity needs him gone two days a week.

And maybe he needs to learn to let go of me a little (break my heart). I know he will think the other babies are great fun, because he just LOVES babies. He needs some more socialization with kids. He needs a little less Mommy.

And so it begins. The slow, inevitable separation. The march toward independence that every parent knows is coming the second they first hold their child. Our job is to send them into the world. And so far I haven't had to. We have existed in a little cocoon, away from the world, him and me.

But it's time. We'll see who cries harder in the morning.

But then I'm going to the gym! Finally!