One Year

"I'm going to be a funny guy," he informed us at the dinner table. That alone resulted in laughter. I remember, as a baby, his expressions and demeanor would make us laugh. He always brought so much happiness. His shyness was always apparent, but so was the desire for smiles, both giving and receiving. He was smiling willingly at only a few weeks old. Well before he was "supposed to." As a toddler, I'd say "he's going to be a class clown." So far, the shyness keeps that prediction from becoming a reality. But not at home. At home, he's really, really funny. It's amazing what you learn from your child in that first year of life. Their characteristics that you know you'll be dealing with for a very long time. The sheer joy that they'll be bringing you, right along with the challenges. It's 365 days of hands-on learning. It's one year of motherhood. 

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One Month

The last two days have been spent mostly homebound, as two of my three battle the nasty cold floating around our island. It's been a fountain of unlimited mucous in these joints, and we're over it. Except for the extra snuggling. That's almost worth the illness. But I'm still considering it the last big sickness of the season. I'll probably be wrong, but I can smell spring and that means summer is not too far away. Like literally right around the corner (I'm looking at you May). Spring isn't really a season here, but this year seems to be making an exception. There are actually things blossoming right now, and my rhubarb looks like it could be harvested in another month. So I'm fantasizing about summer vacation kicking off with good health and good weather. Double whammy. Like those early days of motherhood, when you wonder what happened to the last month of your life, or the last 12-hours of your day. When everything seems to move in a sudden instant, yet drag slowly. It's the perfect twist of emotions, presenting to you the roller coaster that will encompass you now that you are mom. 

Motherhood at one month.

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At Home with Ben and Beate

"Your home should tell
story of who you are,
and be a collection
of what you love."
- Nate Berkus

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December Morning

"On the day you were born
the moon pulled on the ocean below,
and, wave by wave,
a rising tide washed the beaches clean
for your footprints...
...while far out at sea
clouds swelled with water drops, 
sailed to shore on a wind,
and rained you a welcome
across the Earth's green lands....

...On the day you were born
the Earth turned, the Moon pulled,
the Sun flared, and, then, with a push,
you slipped out of the dark quiet
where suddenly you could hear...
...a circle of people singing
with voices familiar and clear...
As they held you close
they whispered into your open, curving ear,
'We are so glad you've come.'" - from "On the Day You Were Born" by Debra Frasier

One Week

The other day the boys had some friends over, and while I was making some lunch, they were playing on our old rotary phone. That thing sucks all kids in, it's like an ancient piece of history, a bit of an unknown. Picking up and hearing a dial tone, turning the numbers around and around, with the prospect of someone talking to you on the other end. Well then they started joking about calling 911, so I was shuffling plates, jabbering on about how we don't make those kinds of jokes because it's actually a serious thing. Then a few minutes later, one sad face asked me over, to talk to the person on the phone. The 911 dispatcher. She explained it sounded like an altercation, I explained it was five boys playing on the old phone. She explained a trooper may want to come out, but it was up to his discretion. Thirty minutes later, halfway through my shower, the trooper did come. That, combined with many other mishaps on our Monday, was our entertaining entrance to spring break. Now it's Friday, and we're all looking around, wondering how our week slipped so quickly from our grasp. Kind of like childhood, as I look through these newborn photos, wondering how my babies slipped from my grasp, into big kids. Life's funny that way. Pulling us along on a bittersweet roller coaster.

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Sunday

I remember the soft white dress my mom wore in the photograph, on the cusp of birth. There was a soft fuzz to the image, her friend laughed, "is my eye-sight going, or is this supposed to be out of focus?" The softness spoke to the moment, as she awaited becoming a mother the third time. 

Each time is so different, just as each child is full of new emotions, adventures, trials and successes. The first-born seems to be the trial run, the experiment. Those early years with them, you start navigating parenting. Then the second child arrives and you discover your heart expands with all the love in the world for them, just as it did the first time around. You continue sailing through unchartered territory, admiring these children you call your own, when years from now you reminisce about these times, holding that photograph close, when you were eagerly on the dawn of your second-born.