First Day

Last Wednesday was the Bean's first day of preschool. I've started and stopped this post several times because I get writer's block as soon as I type that first sentence. What do I say next? This milestone has me swirling in emotion - okay, more emotion. My thoughts jump from sadness at the passing of babyhood to gratitude for the crazy fabulous summer I've been able to share with both of my children, to disbelief at the swift movement of time, to the realization that this is just the first of many baby steps out of the nest, to intense pride that my little girl is ready for and excited about school. And all of these thoughts have the capability to pass within the span of three minutes' time and leave me crying and smiling all at once. Motherhood does indeed permanently open us up and leave us intensely vulnerable, as our hearts wander around outside ourselves through our children. It is a beautiful, frightening, wonderful thing.

The build-up to last Wednesday had been long. Not as long as the build-up to Little Mister's birth (thank goodness!), but long enough. The Bean has wanted to go to school for quite awhile. She's watched the kids there playing on the playground and confidently told us, "I want to go there some day!" She's also checked of many milestones in the getting there. Getting dressed? Check! Going to the potty? Check! Sharing? Mostly check! And as the actual start of school grew closer there were visits to the classroom, back-to-school shopping trips, and a whole host of play dates and field trips that let us squeeze out every last delicious bit of summer that we could.

Yet when the day came - it actually  came - I think we were all just a little bit in shock and definitely anxious. The night before, Bean could hardly stay in bed and on one of many trips  I took upstairs to help her get back to bed, we had this conversation: "Mommy, WHEN am I going to school?" "Tomorrow," I replied. "Oh...," her voice quiet. I realized that prior to that point, school was not yet real to her. The change coming was incomprehensible. It was an exciting idea the floated somewhere in the timeless world of the toddler mind. But the time had come, and it was real, and somehow we all still went to sleep that night.

In the morning, B and I put on our most enthusiastic faces and excitedly helped the Bean get ready. I had set out her clothes the night before and noticed that she had already made her own editorial adjustments to the outfit (note the socks). Bean was ready and excited. She left the house smiling and made a smooth transition into her classroom when B dropped her off.

Thus began one of the longer days of my life. I could not WAIT for my little girl to come home and tell me her stories. (I also prayed that it would all go OK and that she would want to go back again!) And I missed her....

And I made her dinner. And I waited for her to walk in the door. I felt like a kid at Christmas time, filled with anticipation about what she would tell. At 5:30 she and B walked in the door, both happy (phew!).

"How was your day?" I asked.
"I have decided that I'm not going to tell you and Little Mister about my day," she replied.

OH boy, I thought. So much for Christmas. During the course of the evening, I learned that lunch was "not too bad," and they sang "Wheels on the Bus," and that the Bean wanted to go back, even if only to rescue her precious buddy (a stuffed bunny named Paddy) who she no longer wanted to "live" at school. ("We need to talk about this as a family," she said.)

So there I had it. Right before my eyes, my little girl was defining her own world - making sense of and delineating an experience and place that belongs to her. From now on, she gets to choose how to spend her day and what her story will be. And when she gets over the fact that her world has been rocked (again) and school starts to feel normal, and her confidence grows, I cannot WAIT to hear all about it. Until then, I will have to be satisfied with the knowledge that school makes good lunch, the playground is "good," and the Bean seems to be excited to go back.

Sibling Moments

One of the most enjoyable things about having two children is the opportunity to catch them together in adorable tender moments. Bean absolutely adores her little brother, and loves to interact with him. 

What I also love about capturing these moments is all of the outtakes it leads to:

Uhh...Mom? Mom?! She's touching me.

Srsly Mom. I shake my fist a you. She's gonna rub my hair off.

MOOOOMMM!

uh, headbut?

And then there are moments like this. True tenderness. My heart swells.

Falling in Love

I have officially fallen in love with Little Mister. Specifically, it happened yesterday afternoon. For those of you without children, this statement probably raises some eyebrows. After all, it has been nearly 8 weeks since the little guy was born. Didn't I love him already? And the answer is, without a doubt, yes. I loved him before he was born. I knew his demeanor before he arrived - I had even correctly guessed at his preferred fetal position. And once he was here, I would have stopped a speeding train on his behalf if possible. But...

...there is a real biological reason that the body excretes a so-called "love hormone" upon the emergence of a child who has been born via unmedicated vaginal birth (and I'm going to refer to this experience not because I judge those who went any other route to bring about your child, but because that is the road I myself have traveled twice). For the first several hazy crazy weeks of an infant's life, he's a fragile, floppy, sleeping pooping being who wants and needs to be constantly attached to my breasts. My breasts which are sore and huge and leaky and even bleeding. The newborn's most secure place is with his exhausted mother - he just spent three seasons inside her, after all - and his mother will forego hours upon hours of sleep to ensure his security and wellbeing. When the mother wants to go places, it's with the knowledge that there is a ticking feeding timer alongside, and for me, this time, there's also a lovely but moody two-year-old in tow. As my last post indicated, it's safe to say that time has passed without my realizing it or knowing where it went. All I know is that this hamster wheel of a summer that I've been at times riding, at other times driving, has started to slow its pace a bit, and Little Mister and I have finally had the chance to start to know one another as people rather than as the hungry one and the food source.

I know nothing scientific about the ebb and flow of a postpartum woman's hormones, but I'd be willing to bet that something changes between 6 and 8 weeks out from the birth of her child. At least for me, and anecdotally for others I know, now is the time that the magic starts to happen and my baby becomes a person to me. He smiles at me. He stays awake for longer periods. He naps! He maintains a semi-respectable schedule of meals, within reason. Not only does Little Mister make sounds, but I know what they all mean, and they are all adorable! He even makes sounds in order to "converse" with the family. And he's not so floppy anymore. He's becoming his own little sturdy self, still incredibly snuggly and soft, and vulnerable, but he's a solid little guy too. He responds to my touch not just in an instinctual way, but in the way a person who likes me - a lot! - responds...

And I love him. Last evening, as I watched him roll around on the floor and respond to the Bean and my smiles and voices, I knew that the moment had arrived. My heart has leapt out of my body and I love him. Dearest Little Mister, thank you for being here, and thank you for letting me know you and help you as you grow into the one and only you.