his first birthday letter

Hey, little dude. You don't know it and you won't be able to read for a while, but every year, I try to write you a little letter. This is for you, so you can look back and see how I've loved you over the years. It's for me, because I have All The Words and sometimes there's an overflow and it all just needs to come out. And, for now, I share it, too. Because you have lots of people in lots of places who love you and sometimes it's fun for them to see this side of who you are.

So here it is. You're one now, and I get to write you your very first birthday note.

and... I can't quite think how to start. 

There's so much.

Here's the biggest idea:

You are my third baby. By the time you arrived, our family had a rhythm of its own. With J, and then somewhat with K, the family rhythm formed around who they were.

But you didn't really have that luxury. 

And you know what? 

If I had the option to special-order you from God, the most perfect possible child for our family, I could not possibly have done as well as God did. 

You fit. You fit perfectly. You are exactly the piece this home needed. You add so much joy, I can't even begin to express it. I adore you. Everyone does, actually. From your big brown eyes that are smiling all the time to your perfect, delicious little toes, you are awesome. I frequently describe you as "as laid-back and delightful as babies come" and I'm not exaggerating. This is excellent because when you were born, you had two sisters under the age of four, and sometimes their adoration looks like assault. But you just handle it. You handle it so well and so often I had to give the phenomenon its own tag. 

You are patient. 

So very, very patient. There's a lot of mom guilt that can come with having a not-first baby... there are so many needs and only one me and sometimes, it's the smallest who's going to have to wait. Because, for example, early on when all three of you needed lunch right now, I could get your sisters lunch in five minutes or less (if I was quick), but feeding you could take 45 minutes. And you needed it more, there's no question. But I could let one wait for five minutes, or I could let two wait for 45 minutes (probably disrupting your meal the whole time), so... you had to wait. As a teeny, tiny baby. And your needs aren't always last. I try to work things so you're not always getting the short end of the stick, but the fact remains... you do. A lot more often than the girls did. But do you complain? Not usually. Why? 

Your left thumb.

Oh, my goodness, do I ever love your left thumb. 

So do you. 

I know there may come a day when you and I struggle mightily against your thumb-sucking habit, but this year? It's been perfect. I can't even tell you how much I love that you've always been able to soothe yourself. I love that you let me know that you need me for a second, then you find your thumb and wait patiently (even happily!) while I try to get through whatever I have to before I can get to you. Obviously, it makes my life easier. But you know what? It makes yours better, too, and not just because you're calmer during the wait. Because, whether you self-soothed or not, I would still have to meet all the needs of all the little people, and you'd still need to wait sometimes. But instead of yelling at me and raising my stress levels while you wait, you make it easy. So when I finally get there, I'm not frustrated or anxious. Instead, I'm really, really grateful. And a grateful mom is a better mom for you. 

And speaking of anxious...

Something else that surprised me was how much you calm me down. I remember when you were weeks old. I was struggling with postpartum anxiety for the first time ever, and it was sucking all the fun out of my life, which was a bummer because I knew, even then, that my life was a pretty good one. But one morning, when I was ridiculously overstimulated and on the verge of completely freaking out, I laid a swaddle blanket on the floor. I set you on it. I grabbed some coffee and just... sat. And the toddler chaos continued around me and it was loud. But somehow... you and I? On that blanket? We were OK. I wouldn't have ever guessed that a newborn would become a calming influence, but there you were. 

"Oh! Are you trying for a boy?!?"

This is the question that people inexplicably asked through the first half of my pregnancy. And, setting aside all the things that make that one of the more awkward questions people ask (besides, perhaps, "don't you know what causes that?!?"), the answer in my own heart was "nope." I had your sisters. I knew girls. I liked girls. I was comfortable being a "girl mom." I was intimidated by the idea of figuring out a whole 'nother gender. Neither your daddy nor I were really worried about "carrying on the family name" or anything, so when the ultrasound tech told us you were a boy, we were quiet. I wasn't sure what it would look like, this whole "boy" thing. 

But then you showed up. And people still ask me, "Ooh! Aren't you glad to have a boy?!?" But now the answer is totally obvious. "I'm glad to have HIM." Everything, from your very special name to your shining eyes to your belly laugh and your easy personality... I like you. Not because we "finally got our boy," but because God gave us you. 

I love you, little mister. 

You're growing up exactly right. I'm excited to see who you become. I could go on for pages and pages about the things I want for you. (I'll condense: I want Jesus to draw your heart to himself.) But for now? My attention is pretty consumed with who you are right now and how much I love this amazing little person.

love letter to a three-year-old

Hey, Baby K.

You're three! 

This is the part where I exclaim, "I can't believe you're three!" except... I totally can. You don't seem very two to me anymore. I mean, there are a lot of moments where I can still see the baby in you, but you're less and less of a toddler and more and more of a preschooler. Three is a big year. You've said repeatedly, "I'm gonna grow to a hundred and then I'll go to Cubbies with Jenna!" Well, you don't have to grow to a hundred. This is the year! You get to go to Cubbies! And to swim lessons! We may start a little bit of school stuff, too. Just for fun. 

You fascinate me, little girl. You're such a mix of extremes. I mean, there's the expected mix of baby and big girl going on... you chatter on about all kinds of things like a big girl would, using some huge words, but you still have a lot of your baby sounds. (My current favorites are "polliwog" and "authority." I'm sorry you're a little annoyed that I keep asking who has authority over polliwogs. It's just so darn cute to hear you say, "Powwywogs have afoditty ovo demthelf!")

You're really a funny mix of outgoing adventurer and total introvert. Sometimes you want to be the center of attention and you talk loud and proud at anyone nearby and climb things not meant to be climbed by people under four feet tall. But then I see you tuck yourself away in the background, just watching. I love learning when you do which. I love watching you kind of figure out your world and where you want to be in it. 


You can be stubborn to the point of defiant. Except when you aren't. Sometimes you're so quick with a "yes, Mom!" and you scamper off to do whatever it was I asked. And then there are the other times. For the record, you come by it honestly. It absolutely comes from your daddy... I still have all of mine. Your stubbornness will become an asset before long, but I'm sorry this part is difficult. I promise to do what I can to help that happen, but that means some challenges up front for us both. It's OK. I love you plenty for that. I'm praying that you become stubborn in doing what's right. I'm imagining that in a few years, you'll be a really good influence on kids around you, because you'll be holding on to what you know is right, regardless of what everyone else is doing. There will be some kids nearby who know what they should be doing, but are afraid to stand alone. I doubt very much that you'll be afraid to stand alone. And in doing what's right, you'll help those other ones do what's right, too. I like your stubborn. I know it doesn't always feel that way, but I really do.

I'm praying for you this year, baby girl. Praying that Jesus continues to draw your heart. That you learn that being stubborn isn't worth it when you're doing what's wrong. That your friendship with your sister grows and your care for your baby brother continues and becomes gentle. That your relationship with your daddy continues to bloom. And I pray for me. Because I'm the mama, I'm with you the most when you're pushing lines need someone to help you learn how to use your stubborn for good. I pray that I don't get tired of teaching and start letting you slide... that wouldn't serve you at all, as much as you think that's what you want. And I pray that when I'm teaching you, I would do it with a heart that is for you and that you would see that. 

I love you, kiddo. 

I love your spunk and your adventure and your silly and your stubborn. You're likely to hear "She's growing too fast!" tonight, and they say that because they love your little self and it's hard to see you leaving your little behind. I get that. I held you a long time last night, knowing I wouldn't get to hold a two-year-old you ever again. But hear me loud: You're growing just right. You're lovely. I wouldn't trade you for anything. Not even a version of you that stayed small forever.

I love who you're becoming. 

Happy birthday, Little J!

Hey, Little J... 

Happy fourth birthday, little girl! I love you. Have I told you lately that I love how you're growing up? Not to fast, not to slow... just right. It's fun that you can have very involved conversations with me. (It's fun that you frequently carry out both sides of involved conversations with, say, stuffed animals. Or infants.) I love that you know and use all the big words you hear us use. I also like that you still say "somefling" instead of "something." I'll admit that I'm not working very hard to teach you the right way to say that... I want to hold on to that very last hint of toddler in your voice. I still call you "Baby J" from time to time, but that's more habit than anything. You're less and less of a baby and more of a little kid. 

It's fun (and sometimes scary) to see the ways you're like me. You're so empathetic. It blows my mind that a three- (now four)-year old can and will pick up and verbalize how people around her are feeling (and respond appropriately), but you frequently do. It's so funny to hear you interact with K and B- you're such a little mama. It's like hearing me, but in a preschooler voice. (And sometimes you say "Oh, MAN!" or "Shoot!" and I realize that sounding like me isn't always a good thing. I'll work on that.) 

I love your fun... The twirls, the dancing, the fairy wings and wanting to "really fly"... I love your songs- both the ones you learned and the ones you make up. (I won't lie- I appreciate that you have pretty good pitch, too. Much easier to hear 2,341 rounds of Frozen songs when they're not off-key.)

I love how you see God. Every pretty sunrise or snowfall finds you saying, "Look, Mama! We should thank God for that!" And the questions. Oh, the questions. You give me a run for my money, child. ("Wait. So God sent Jesus? But Jesus is God! So God sent Himself??? That doesn't make any sense.")  I like that when you're sad, you talk to Him. I also like when you ask him to make your toys "real." (And I like that you tell me, "I asked Him, and I hope He does make my giraffe a REAL giraffe, but if He doesn't, I'm ok with that." Much easier for me that way, to be sure!) You're such a fun blend of little kid and big kid. I am praying that this is the year you understand, really understand about "God's rescue plan." (Because, as cool as you are, it's obvious you need the Holy Spirit every bit as badly as your Mama does.) I am excited to see you grow to understand "grace." (Other than "No! Don't take that away! Give me grace!" when you deserve discipline.) 

I'm excited for this year.

Things you'll learn to read and write and add and draw.

Fun things you'll learn to do. (Swim lessons happening when K turns 3!)

The way you'll learn to relate to your sister and help with your brother. 

Greater control over your words and emotions. (Not perfect- heavens! I'm not that good at it!- just better.) 

Growth in grace and character and wisdom. (As much of those as a 4-year-old can soak up!)

Mostly, I am just excited to see you become more you.

Because you're lovely. And we love you.