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ix,

We’re coming off of another challenging night. I wish that weren’t the case. I wish that I could stop writing about these evening woes. I wish that I knew how to stop the tears. I wish that we had you figured out. And yet, and yet…

What I will say is that our nocturnal routine has seen great improvement this month, and I feel optimistic (for the first time in a long while) that you will sleep through the night with regularity. Soon.

I will also say that while you were fitful and screamy for nearly three hours last night, that brief fifteen minute period when my embrace was a source of comfort rather than fury is what I will remember twenty years from now. Our chins pressed side by side, your silky baby hair brushing against my lips, sweet whispers of Little girl, little girl, Mama’s here. Mama will always be here and your arms grasped so tightly around my neck that those days of being connected as one were upon us. Those are the vignettes that have been archived. That is what I remember.

You are challenging, Little One. But don’t you ever think for a second that I don’t love you with every fiber of my being. While I had come to understand that paradox and tension were the essence of parenthood, you have brought that understanding to new heights. In one breath I will decry your constant motion and pursuit of trouble while declaring unabashed adoration and awe at your spirited, sparkling personality. You hurl your body to the ground in frustration, look up at me with tear stained cheeks and a face rivaling Munch’s model for “The Scream” and then let loose a noise comparable to what that painting suggests, and I am at a loss. How do you manage a 13 month old’s temper tantrum? Minutes later you will stagger over to my legs and reach you arms toward the sky and, upon being lifted to my face, will throw your whole person into a hug that is filled with more emotion and appreciation and love than I could have ever known was possible from one of so little life experience. While your sister certainly cried and hugged at this age, you do both with a heightened level of attention, emotion and passion. The lows may be lower, oh, but the highs, the highs, well, I’ve been watching far too much Breaking Bad, but I can guarantee you that they’re better than methamphetamine. And far safer.

You are busy. So very busy. I keep reminding myself that your sister wasn’t yet walking at this stage in her life, and yet you have been taking on the world, two-legged, for nearly three months. I must stop comparing. I have to stop comparing. You two are so very different. And yet you both are the reason that my world keeps turning. You are my reason. Both of you.

And the vicarious pride I feel when I see you contentedly perched in your little rocking chair, visibly proud of your own developmental success, is just a taste of the kind of vicarious pleasure and purpose that I will continue to feel as you take on the world with all the spirt and passion and intensity that is already at the heart of who you are.

You are your mother’s daughter.

I have been labeled as “difficult” and “complicated” and “passionate” and “emotional” and even “controversial” in my time, and while I was once insecure about such labels, I now see them as points of pride. In order to stand up for myself and women and mothers as a greater group, I have had to say things that make others uncomfortable. I have had to have the courage to stand by my experience and push against the norm, and be willing to make others frustrated or angry by this refusal to accept the status quo.

Remember my love, well behaved women seldom make history. You no doubt, we’ll be one for the ages.

Happy 13 months, Courtland Whaley.

143 Mama