To my daughter

comments 2
the daily life

Dear daughter,
I am writing this to you in case you find yourself in a position with your own littles, wondering why it’s so hard and how this mother of yours did it all since the only memories you will recall in moments such as these are those seeped with glowing positivity and love – all memories of screaming, throwing, breaking, knee bending and pleading apologies for being such a darn faulty mother, will be promptly forgotten into your subconscious to rediscover through years of therapy. It’s tempting for me to want to glaze over this challenging time and not write any of it down but then I find myself wondering why am I so horribly tired and where on earth did my brain go? So sweet girl, this one’s for you.

Let me start by saying both you and your brother have been sick again since Thursday because mom had a friend over who warned her her child had a runny nose but I thought, nope there is no way after all the sickness we’ve had this year we could possibly get sick again. come on over! but that, of course, was just fantasy and we are all sick, once more. This caused you to sleep in three different beds last night because sleep just please sleep – your daddy was a rockstar and attended to you every single time because your brother has found that nursing all night every night is the ultimate form of comfort for one side of the party involved. Still boasting about that one {ONE} time he slept through the night. We woke with the smell of a baby blowout that covered the two towels I slept on because you had some of mom’s water whilst you tucked yourself to sleep in our bed and left the bottle on its side, thus causing the aforementioned leakage that soaked the entirety of my pillow and the area where my body lays to rest. I have noticed all liquid experiences only happen on my side. Which really was quite remarkable this time, considering you were sleeping on dad’s side. As I went to get the supplies to clean up your brother, I noticed Bentley had thrown up again, a mere six inches from the hard surface and instead onto the carpet. As I was getting the paper towels to clean up that seeped in mess of chunks, your brother threw up on the bed. This is when the most darling girl came down the stairs in her adorable little nightgown and cheeky smile, declaring GOOT MORNG which obviously made me say yes you may have all the sugary cereal you’d like! and promptly brought your high chair in to our room so we could all enjoy it together from the comfort of our own bed. This is where you carefully ate all your cereal then curiously poured all the milk out on the ground. There was yelling, there was crying, there was a mom that was so happy dad was taking care of it all. I hopped into the shower, Luke pulled over the trash can which apparently had loads of broken glass in it and there sat my boy amongst the shards till mom could come get him. I feel like we are in the time of life of broken glass. I believe we were up to ten glasses in the last two weeks. Nope, I broke one the other day – make that eleven. So, just so you know, when all your plates and glassware and all the beautiful things you got for your wedding are crashing around you, know that this beautiful-things-loving momma switched over to paper for the time being and it is ah-ma-zing. Granted, I hate eating off of paper and would never consider it full term but while I’m currently underwater in every area of my life, being able to throw a dirty dish away and not spend hours and hours doing dishes all day every day while you, my sweet girl, make more messes than I can even count, is just so delightful. Environment-shmironment. And one day I WILL have a dishwasher and cry happy tears each morning. So if you too feel the need to switch over to paper, this momma of yours will not be judging you :) Not to mention I have not broken a glass since! ;) Anyways, dad left for work, I grab the sheets off the bed, pop them in the washer and come back to find that you, ma dear, have poured momma’s coffee all over that naked mattress, the bed, and the carpet. I am trying to see these little marks as sweet memories but I am struggling. One day when you leave me (NO DON’T!) and are off to college or chasing your dreams, Imma look back on that little coffee stain on the bed we surely will still have and I will miss you. You’re just making your little mark on mommas heart and simultaneously, her stuff. SO we cleaned that up best we could, went out to the rest of the house, noticed that too is just a pile of messes in every area imaginable, and left it all behind in search of whales. I could and do spend all day cleaning if I don’t force myself to leave so I’m very thankful I listened to that little two year old voice of excitement at wanting to go to see the whales (which is really just going to see the ocean where the whales live). We got down there, and you went running up to the first girl you saw to have her hold you. And she did. And Bentley was his anxious self with his babies in all different areas, Luke had woken up from his nap, I was stuck with the giant stroller and the jumping dog, calling out to the poor girl that I’M COMING, as she surely was wondering where this girl’s mother was. We had an awkward hand off as your mother is so good at, I was sure every one was judging me for reproducing, then two older ladies came up and talked to you and Luke, one told me she had three kids in three years and she looked like she got her brain back, and I left feeling somewhat encouraged. Bentley got attacked by two different dogs, but amazingly was the calmest dog at the beach (as long as his babies are near him) and we went home rather proud and uplifted. On the way home, I stopped on the sidewalk about a half a mile from our house, to adjust my shoe or something and when I looked over, you had your hands full on in one random patch of poison oak that was sticking out right at your stroller height. You then proceeded to touch your arms, face, rub your eyes and all bad things and I am just praying your momma doesn’t know her plants and I am wrong about that one. How lame would it be to get your first case of poison oak while in a stroller in an urban area?? It’s supposed to be whilst building forts and adventuring through the forest! Nevertheless we ran home and went right into the cold bath. You hate baths. There was much screaming. Oh! but before this I popped some quinoa on the stove for lunch and set my timer. I was drying you off, smelled burning, ran downstairs to find the whole kitchen in smoke. Thick smoke. Like can’t see the picture on the wall smoke. So I popped my burned quinoa outside, opened my little slots of windows, checked my timer that still said I had 5 minutes, and cursed my awful stove once more for ruining yet another simple cooking experience. Then my brain remembered now-crawling-Luke upstairs, dashed up there leaving you amidst the smoke, wailing, we scrapped the healthy lunch for less nutritious options, sat outside and thanked the Lord for our many blessings because this was just a normal day. It wasn’t an especially difficult or unusual one. Just a normal day before noon. So sweet girl, if I ever get out of this phase of messes and crashes and having to say I’m sorry every three minutes cause I’m on such a short fuse, and by some miracle you remember the good and one day think I’ve got it all together, I want you to know that I went through this too and you’re not alone. And I will get through this and so will you. And I love you and all your messes with all my everything.

Your Momma


  1. CinnyPinny says

    It’s hard to believe all that can happen in one morning!
    You are going to be so happy that you documented it –
    I love how you put it all down in the form of a letter to your sweet daughter. Absolutely precious!

    Once more unto the breach, dear girl!
    ( I PROMISE it gets easier!)


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s