Dear Babygirl,
Did you think I was neglecting you on this blog? I assure you that’s not the case. It’s just that, until recently, you weren’t really that blog-worthy.
Let’s face it: your first year was what I fondly refer to as the Appendage Age (or the AppendAge), as in, you were basically an appendage dangling off my chest in your Ergo carrier, first all snuggled in and out of sight and now sticking out, waving those arms and kicking those legs and constantly attempting to eat my nose and pull out my earrings.
But now the AppendAge is coming to an end. Babyman is in school five days a week; on Tuesdays and Thursdays, it’s just you and me: two San Francisco gals on the go. In other words, for the first time in your little life, it’s all about you.
So where would you like to go, Babygirl? What would you like to do today?
You might feel a bit out of sorts without your older brother calling the shots. Or, you might feel a sense of FREEDOM!!! I can only guess what you are thinking, but I am trying to learn your language now that you have some airtime. So far, it’s a lot of requests to sing “Row, Row, Row Your Boat” (so many, in fact, that I am beginning to wish that song had a few more verses).
And of course there is the walking. Walking here, walking there; walking holding laundry you pilfered from the hamper; walking dragging Babyman’s coveted “Talking Woody” doll; walking into the kitchen to visit me, then walking out, down the hall, to see about unspooling all the toilet paper again. When I put you in the stroller, you strain and protest: “But Mommy, I was walking! Could you not see how busy I’ve been, with the walking?”
You are my busy bee, my little independent one, who mastered the rocking horse when I wasn’t looking and went on to scale the furniture and empty the kitchen drawers. Big smiles when I find you, sitting there on top of the desk or buried in piles of Legos and puzzle pieces, swaying back and forth the music on the radio. My wee love.
I am sorry you’ve been playing a bit of second fiddle this year. It is a hard truth, and one we must all live with: when Babyman was born, there was no one but him; when you arrived, you had to share your space with someone who had become, at that point, something of a force of nature. I hope that you will forgive him that someday — it isn’t his fault, after all, that we watched him so intently, analyzed his every behavior so intensely. If he’s neurotic, blame me. I don’t mind; you and he can have a good laugh over beers someday about your wing-nut Mommy, and I will understand.
Let me be very clear, though, about the role you have played in my life. You, my little daughter, are not to be underestimated. Nobody puts Babygirl in a corner. And, in the hours and days after you burst into the world, your labor a mere five hours as you wiggled furiously into being — “I’m coming, Mommy!” — you gave me a great gift.
You did not complete me as a person — I like to think I am complete, in my imperfect way, all on my own — but you completed me as a mother. You provided the yang to my maternal yin.
My first years of motherhood were marked, in many ways, by much confusion and self-doubt. Motherhood (as you will come to understand someday) is as overwhelming and unpredictable as it is rewarding and life-affirming, and when you are hard-wired, as I am, to establish routines and meet (or, better, exceed) your own highest expectations; when you are prone to stubbornness and inflexibility…let’s just say I wasn’t very easy on myself when I had my first child, your brother.
And then you were born. I was outnumbered, and even as I rejoiced in you, I almost instantly felt the guilt and fear creeping in: who would get the lion’s share of my attention? Would I manage to be fair? Was it possible, really, to meet everyone’s needs?
The answer (of course, because this is how motherhood is) is: sort of.
And so the nurse handed you to me one year ago, and you went rooting around on my chest, looking for your first food, and I looked at you and said (out loud, I think): “This, my dear, is the part where we don’t freak out about everything going right all the time.”
It is as if, by being born, you took all of my negative energy and gave it a beautiful new channel: Lovely you, with your long eyelashes and your long stretches of sleep. Lovely you, who asks so little yet offers that wide toothy smile so easily. Lovely you, who taught me that there is just no way to juggle it all perfectly (and really, no time to try), but if I do my best and love with all my being, that will make up for the botched naptimes and the inevitable tantrums.
You have given me great joy, my girl, and now I can give you what you so richly deserve: my whole attention, all of me, if only a few hours at a time.
So let’s make it count.
Onward, with love.
Mommy
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