Today, you are a year and a half years old. I am having a hard time starting this letter because I have so much to say, but I am not entirely sure I have the vocabulary to convey it.
I remember writing you a letter the day before you were born (you can read it, here). I was so eager to meet you, little one. When I wrote it, I wasn’t feeling apprehensive about the labor or delivery. I remember the words just pouring out of me. While I typed, I experienced this cool, calm, and collected ease and energy pass through my body. Now, here you are a year and a half later, and that easy-going, serene-like energy is passing through me again as I am typing this today.
There are so many moments when I have absolutely no idea what I am doing as your mother. The situations that get me into the most trouble usually occur when I am unable to read your mind and you have a full-blown meltdown as if I had robbed you of the very last yogurt covered raisin (your kryptonite) in the house and just to spite you, ate it in front of your face. These tantrums typically grace our presence when I or your father pour your cheerios into the wrong sequence of containers (oh because what toddler wouldn’t demand at least two containers for every snack) or because I pointed to the wrong magnet on the fridge, put the wrong pair of shoes on, or didn’t pick out the right book. Oh Winter, your tantrums leave me feeling very perplexed and make us giggle from time to time because the smallest thing sets you off. I better hold on; I know we have many more months of miscommunication and tantruming ahead of us (wink!)
But while I tease you about the times when I literally have NO IDEA what you’re thinking, there are more instances when I know exactly what you need. We have this insanely crazy connection, kid. I have felt it with you from the moment we met. We are kindred spirits and I often wonder if our souls were made out of the same substance because there are so many times when I feel like my heart doesn’t just beat inside my body, that it’s in yours too. I love it when our eyes lock and we both become so overwhelmed with joy that we either crack up into laughter or embrace one another, laying your cheek on my shoulder as we hug. You are the most loving, empathetic little girl. I love when our breath syncopates and I get lost in the moment listening to your inhale and exhale as you hum along when I sing to you.
I had no idea that this could be motherhood--that the intense and overwhelming feeling of hope, strength, admiration, and utter gratitude could collide in such a way that makes everything feel brand new, like there is no other moment but this one right here.
I have never been so honored to know someone before and I still get all choked up thinking that you picked me to be your mother. I get to raise you, to love you, to guide you, to support you in whoever you become. I know there will come a day when your identity outgrows the safe haven that I have created for you within my soul, but I want you to know that even when that day comes, I will not be far away. And anytime you feel like your path is not aligning to your hopes and dreams, come on over to your parents’ house and we can and will give you every ounce of our being. When it comes to you, I am like the Giving Tree. I will never run out of supplies, of resources, or heart and soul. My love for you is infinite and your father and I love you very, very much.
Happy 18 months, Winter!
To the moon and back, kid. To the moon and back,
Photography by Brittany Renee'