You know that moment when you meet your baby for the first time and you've been waiting to meet them your entire life so you're surprised you don't recognize them right away and you try to take it all in so that you never forget this perfect little bundle and memorize everything? The way they smell, the way their body feels warm against yours, their little nose and eyes and fingers and toes and spiky little fine hair. Baby, sweet baby. They grow and there are so many firsts you can't get back and so many lasts you can't even count or keep track when the last 'last thing' was or the next first thing is coming and so every fiber of your being screams at you to keep holding them close and keep taking it all in forever and never let them go. So you do that, but also at the same time your heart screams let them go! Let them fly and soar and accomplish more than you ever dreamed of. So you do that, too.
And one day that little baby becomes this brilliant, inventive, curious, strong, brave and fierce little girl who is actually five years old and some sort of shining beacon of everything that is wonderful and beautiful in the entire world.
That moment. This kid. Happy new years. Happy birthday!
Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
I snapped this picture in the early hours one morning, before the sun was all the way up. Before you were really awake. You held your arctic fox and we were entangled, sharing milk for the last time. We had talked about weaning and you decided you weren't quite ready, but I knew you would be soon so I wanted to take a picture every time you nursed in case it was the last.
This particular time was unusual. It was so early in the morning that we'd typically just sleep through. It reminded me very much of when you were a newborn. You'd wake up at night and all you needed was me, and everything was quiet in the whole house. Just us, together, nursing, peaceful. It seemed like we could be the only people up in the entire world, just you and I in that silence.
You were born and you were nursing every hour. Then you became a toddler and you were nursing several times a day and all throughout the night. You grew into a big kid and you nursed before every nap, and before bedtime. When you were hurt, or sad, or lonely. Sharing milk was your home base. 4 years, 3 months, 15 days.
One morning you woke up and proudly declared, "I'm weaned!" And just like that, you decided you were ready to become a child all your own.
We had talked about weaning before this day, and I explained this to you. That when you were growing into a baby in my womb we shared one body. You could feel my heartbeat and I could feel your movement and we were very much a part of each other. Then, when you were born, we were still very much a part of each other, totally entangled. I held you close, slept with you, nursed you day and night. We could not be without the other. As you grew and became independent, we still shared this link between us. An invisible string that kept us together in this world as an inseparable part of each other. We talked about how weaning is a very special occasion, and one day, when you are ready we'll be able to celebrate you going into the world apart from me, as a child all your own.
That day came and you were so proud of yourself, so confident and ready. It was a very special day, so we went to a very special place. We walked up still as one unit, holding hands. And then you crossed by yourself. Out into the world. Weaned. A child all your own! A very special thing to celebrate.
Sweet Bee. One foggy morning, just as the sun was coming up, your father held my hand and I roared you into the world with everything I had in me - just like that. So simple and intricate at the same time, and I heard you cry and held you close. I nourished you with love and milk and kisses and songs and everything I had in me - just like that, and we were more like one person than two. I brought you home and showed you the world and rocked you and sat with you and woke up with you and nursed you and struggled and loved you with everything I had in me - and just like that, it was three years ago.
Three years old and you still like to cuddle through naps. All sprawled out. Somehow you are this tiny person who is wearing real jeans, with real belt loops, and real boots, with real soles, and your own personality and aspirations and somehow you fit neatly into my womb and then neatly into my arms and neatly at my breasts. You are over three feet tall. No more inches, real feet. You can ride roller coasters and run through the grass and jump off of tree stumps and paint beautiful masterpieces and carry a puppy that weighs more than twice what you used to weigh. I have no idea how many weeks old you are, or when we stopped counting in weeks. This crazy, spirited, full of life and imagination tiny little person you have become is three years old. Real years.
You are the best person I know, my three year old Bee. Just hands down. You can run faster, jump higher, sing louder, dance better, laugh most, climb more, and love deeper than anyone I know! You are an adventurer with a brave heart and bold spirit. You are curious and strong. You are a thrill seeker and a true explorer with a thirst for knowledge and an inquisitive nature. You are fierce, my fighter who can't be tamed. You are gentle, my caring soul with a love that can't be worn.
We've had three years now. Full of wonder, growth, accomplishments, milestones, challenges. It is incredible - this life with you that I never expected and wouldn't trade for anything. I know that I've borrowed you from the bigger world you'll go into and I know that these days are so, heartwrenchingly, enchantingly fleeting and I will never forget to enjoy the little things.
So, we swing in the backyard. We dance together in the grocery store. We nurse in our cozy chair. We play in the woods. We go on leaf hunts. We count stones. We feed ducks. We walk on the beach. We collect sea shells. We roam. We pick flowers. We sing on the trolley. We swim in the sea. We lay in the grass. We dig in the mud. We stomp in the rain. We twirl through the hallway. We climb up trees. We read books. We tell stories. We make memories.
Most of all, we plant your roots, and we grow your wings. I love you, my sweet, three year old, Bee.
Two years ago we took Bee to her very first Pumpkin Patch. It's been a really fun tradition, and it doesn't involve much. You go to the pumpkin patch, and you pick the very best pumpkin that you find! On our first trip I remember a sweet baby Bee picking the very biggest pumpkin. This time, we had sweet big kid Bee picking the very smallest pumpkin!
Of course there were so many shapes, sizes, and colors to choose from! Bee took her time to inspect each of them before choosing her favorite.
A difficult task which required a little bit of help...
