Parenting Styles & Trying To Stay Up Above The Water

I've been thinking about this topic a lot lately.

To my Daughter on her first Father's Day

You are 10 months old and you learned how to say “dada” this week, just in time for your first Father’s Day. Your father is ecstatic. He even said “I love her so much more now that she can say Dada”. Your father has a funny sense of humor like that. 

Father’s Day has never been anything really special for me. I only lived with my dad for a short period and even then, he usually worked 12-14 hours/day, 80hrs/week, so he never really played an active role in my daily life. Anyway, that’s a completely different topic.

To my daughter on my first Mother's Day:

In the weeks leading up to this day, May 8th, 2016, I've seen countless lists circulating the internet for things to get mom for Mother's Day. Discounted kitchenware, personalized jewelry, spa days, clothing, shoes, accessories, flowers, you name it. All in the name of celebrating mothers. 

I've even seen lists claiming what moms REALLY want for Mother's Day: to sleep in, uninterrupted by children asking for things, to not have to cook or clean up the mess caused by breakfast-in-bed, or to be left alone to have quiet time. 

As I’m writing this, you’re sleeping next to me. Your arms are sprawled out at your sides. Your right hand is barely touching my left arm. That small touch, even as you sleep, is comforting you. You know that I’m near and it helps you sleep better. Even for me, knowing that you’re near me helps me sleep better. 

You are only 9 months old today, but when you’re old enough to read this, to fully comprehend the message I’m trying to convey, I hope that you understand that I don’t want or need any gifts from you to show your appreciation and love for me. I hope that by the time you read this, you know that just your time and thoughtfulness is all I need to feel special. 

I don’t ever want you to believe for a second that what I want is to be without you. I don’t want to sleep in if it means missing out on breakfast with you. I don’t want to get my nails done or a spa treatment if it means my time will be without you. I would not be a mother if it weren’t for you. This is as much of a day to celebrate you as it is to celebrate me. Mother’s Day should be a day that we spend together, showing how grateful we are for each other. 

Before you were born, it was my body that carried you. As soon as that test came back positive, I became a mother. Everything changed in those first few moments before I shared the news with your father. In those moments, we were alone. Though you were just a cluster of cells, it was just the two of us. In the following months, every fiber of my being was spent to ensure that you were developing and growing normally. I worried for you, about your safety, about your comfort. I cried for you in fear that you weren't safe.

At 40 weeks and 3 days (mas o menos) I labored and you were born. It was into my arms that you were placed. I was the first person to hold you, your first moments in this world were spent on my chest, my warmth regulating your body temperature. I have provided you with all of the nourishment you’ve needed to grow fast and grow strong with my body alone (so far). I comfort you to sleep every night. My face is the first one that you see in the morning. You are a part of me as much as I am a part of you.

There will come a day where you don’t need me anymore. You won’t depend on me for food. You won’t want to sleep next to me. Your face may not always brighten when I enter a room. You will learn to crawl and then to walk and you won't long for my arms to carry you anymore. 

There will be moments where I annoy you, disappoint you, hurt you. You better believe that none of this will be intentional. I hope that you never feel scared or embarrassed to share your feelings with me, to let me know that I've made you feel anything less than loved. And you better believe that I will do everything in my power to correct that. You may at times be angry with me, you might even think or say you hate me. Growing up and finding your place in the world is hard. It’s made more difficult if you have parents that don’t always let you do what you want to do or buy you the things you want them to buy. But don’t for a second ever feel that I don’t love you, that I don’t like you, or that I don’t want to just *be* with you. 

Your dad is your everything. You adore him and he is head over heals in love with you. He is your rock. However, there are still quiet moments that are just of us, darling. There are sweet minutes of nursing, feeding, bathing, and sleeping that are just Mommy and you. I know that it's not always going to be just us. There will come a time when you are ready to leave us, your father and me. You will go to college or find a job, find love. One day, if it's something you want, you might even become a mother yourself. It will be then that you truly and completely understand the overwhelming love that I have for you. In that moment, I know that I have done my job right. 

Mother’s Day is more than just fancy dinners, presents, and flowers. It’s about what makes us mothers at all: that’s our children. It’s the intense unbreakable bond between a mother and her child. It’s the fierce dedication and pure joy that I feel in my heart every time you learn something new, every time you smile or laugh, every time you get up after you fall. 

I wouldn’t be a mother without you. Every Mother's Day that we share together, you should know that I'll thankfully accept any gift you decide to give me, small or large, handmade or store-bought. I will marvel at the effort and the thoughtfulness that went into your choice. But I also need you to know that your love is the true gift. And so, on our first Mother’s Day together, I want you to know that I love you so incredibly much, and that there’s nothing in this world that I want more than your happiness and joy. 

Us

I've always written in diaries. With the birth of high-speed internet access in most homes, I ventured into online journaling on and off for over 10 years now. LiveJournal. MySpace, Twitter, Facebook, Tumblr, Instagram. I'm a sucker for sharing parts of my life with friends and family and strangers. It's one of my favorite things in the world to then look back at my memories for reflection, to coo over memories, to remember little moments, and to see how much I've grown.

Me & A, age 1 month.

I feel like this newest chapter of mine, the parenting one, is going to be the longest, most exhausting, most rewarding one yet. Already I feel like so much time has gone by, and I lament every single moment passed.

Motherhood, so far, (I'm 8 months in), has been a series of fleeting moments.

Me & A, age 2 months.

There are some moments that feel like will never end, the ones where she's up all night. The ones where she won't stop crying or whining. The ones where she's sick and I can't do much to help her. These are struggles that honestly feel like they are never-ending. But then they're gone. In a blink, they have passed and it's as if so much time has gone by.

Me & A, age 3 months.

There are days where I'm watching her play, she's either in her playpen or in her bouncer, looking at a toy intently, twisting it in her little hands, and I realize just how much she's changed in our short amount of time together. She's entertaining herself. In this moment, she is completely enthralled with her stimulus before her.

A, age 4 months.

So many moments have passed, and there are still so many moments left to experience together. I don't want to miss or forget a single second of it. Because before I know it, she'll be a moody teenager. She'll be leaving the house to go to college, to start a career, to get married, to have kids. This is the goal, though, right? To get her to be self-sufficient. But I'm already lamenting the time we've lost.

David & A, age 8 months.

We're at a point in our lives where David can stay home with her while he works. He's currently in the writing stages of his dissertation. That means that he has already designed and implemented his research plan, collected data. Now he's analyzing and writing. Theoretically, that's what he's doing. What he's ACTUALLY doing is singing made-up songs, changing diapers, rocking the baby, and reading/writing notes on his phone while she sleeps in his arms. While it means that the date of completion for his project may be pushed back some or it may mean that nights approaching deadlines are spent hunched over a computer in a coffee shop late at night, pounding out last-minute pages, he wouldn't trade it for the world. Because he gets to spend all of these moments with her. He gets to witness her "firsts". He gets to be the dad that raises her.

A, age 8 months. 

We're doing our best.

Weekly Bumpdate Photo Series

As most of you know, I love to document things. I take pictures, write blog posts, I'm active on Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, Instagram, Snapchat. I had a Livejournal for like 6 years before I abandoned it. I'm one of those people. Think what you want about my generation and our selfie culture, our over-sharing nature, but I doubt I'm going to look back on my life when I'm like 70 and be like "man, I wish I had less pictures of my life". 

Since this is a new blog, there really isn't any content about my pregnancy at all. Soooooooo, I'm going to share all of my photos from my weekly bumpdate series, just so I have a place to find them all. 

It really is quite amazing to seem them all at the same time like this. I  missed a few weeks here and there due to a crazy schedule or the lack of effort, but I'm glad I have them to share with Aurora when she's old enough to understand. Each week, I also wrote a letter accompanying each picture and put them in a book for her. 

Here we go:

Day 1.