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TBT // Sunny’s Birthday Letters

Fourth birthday…

You are one of my favorite people in the entire Universe. You are so kind and thoughtful and sensitive, even at just 48 months of life. You’re so very in tune with people’s emotions, empathetic to the core, expressing sorrow when I shed a tear, offering aid when your sister is frustrated, giggling righteously when your daddy cracks a smile. This trait is so very admirable and dear. You feel things deeply, and while that will at times feel debilitating and overwhelming, it will make you an amazing friend, partner, sister and daughter. You already are.

Third birthday…

Watching you engage with the world is a truly magical experience. If only we could hold on to our preschool lens for life. The world would be a far simpler, more beautiful place. We’d take time in the evening to listen to the frogs outside our window. We would revel in the simplicity and joy of a balloon or a swing or our bare feet in a cold stream. We’d dance like no one’s watching, even in the middle of the grocery store. We’d ask why. We’d be curious about the world around us. We’d sit around the dinner table as a family and talk about our day. We’d even ask the dogs how they spent their day. We’d turn old boxes into castles and pillows into clouds. Our greatest concern would be what bows to put in our pigtails and what crayons to pack in our backpack. We’d spend our days drawing and reading and swinging and snuggling and eating Gold Fish and splashing in a nightly bath. We’d say I love you, freely, all the time. Whether it be to our blanket or our doggie or our favorite stuffed animal or our party shoes or our Mommy, Daddy and little sister.

Second birthday…

Regardless of my conflicted feelings on your age, the fact remains that you are a growing and brilliant little girl. One who daily amazes her parents with her laughter and story-telling, her kisses and make believe. This past month, the house has been transformed by your burgeoning imagination. Daddy and I watch in awe as you make up fantastical tales stacking your blocks, or pushing your stuffed animals in your rocking horse, or sitting contentedly with your books, page after page relaying stories based on the images you see within. It is truly remarkable that you are capable of such dreams, and word on the street is that these fantasies will only become more fantastic and awe-inspiring as you get older.

First birthday…

You have turned our worlds upside down and brought us more joy than I could have ever imagined. Daddy and I have grown closer by your presence. By seeing each other reflected in you and your beaming personality. I feel no yearning or nostalgia for my former life, as you and your constant and rapid growth keep my head turned forward. In one year, you have made all the difference. You have made a family.

For James

Dear James,

Welcome to 30! It’s a lovely place to be, promise.

The amount of shit you’ve accomplished in just three decades is astounding. Exactly one week ago today we said goodbye to our Ursa. That’s a milestone, an experience, neither of us wanted to confront. Learning the grace and strength to let life go was your final brave act as a 20-something, and it left me humbled and grateful that I get to be the person to face these milestones, challenges, and experiences with you. I will never forget our hands linked together as Ursa took her final breath. The way we saw new pieces of ourselves and our relationship play out in those moments. The vulnerability, the sadness, the relief, the devastation, the fear, the comfort, the sorrow, and the love, above all else the love, that happened in the exhale of one last breath. I’m laid bare reliving it.

I don’t think either of us was prepared for the lasting impact of this loss. The way we still reach for the jar of peanut butter each morning for daily medicine distribution. The way we look up at that spot on the hill expecting that furry black blob to be lounging on its crest. The way we listen for grunts of contentment and whinnies of delight. The way we throw a tennis ball expecting its return.

I especially don’t think either of us expected to be so desperately, one hundred percent certain that we wanted, needed, the ebullient, exhausting, joyful spirit of our Ursa to be a part of our family so soon after her departure. We find our home too quiet. Too lonely. Too empty. Too easy without our Ursa.

Boy do we ever thrive on needy dependents, eh?

The fact that we both independently began searching for another Flat-Coated Retriever to join life on the farm speaks volumes to our mutual readiness. I know we were both worried that that kind of yearning might be too soon. That it might feel like we’re trying to replace Ursa and bury our grief. But the truth is, we both know that no dog could ever ever ever replace our Bear. No dog could ever fill the nooks and crannies of our hearts that she’s come to inhabit. But we do know how capable of love and joy our hearts can be. We know how to make room, and welcome new love in, to live in bittersweet juxtaposition to our loss of sweet Ursa.

I love that about you. About us.

Neither of us expected to want another Flat-Coat. Not with the elevated cancer risk. Not with the baggage of a purebred. Not with our championing of rescue animals.

And yet, both of us knew right away that there was no other option for us. For our family. We have fallen stupidly, irrevocably in love with the FCR spirit, and we want that to be a part of our lives, of our children’s lives.

The challenge of course being that Flatties are hard to come by given that they are more rare than other kinds of retrievers.

Well, little did you know that I’ve already found our little girl. Our next adventure. Our newest family member.

She won’t be ready to join our home until mid-October, just as our hearts wouldn’t be quite ready for her any sooner given the grief that we know we need to face and bear in order to be ready for this new phase. For this little bundle of energy and light.

Sure, we’ve had three uninterrupted nights of sleep for the first time since Addison was born. Sure, we’re well-rested and our routine feels manageable and easy. But fuck easy. Let’s bring on the crazy and the love and the laughs and the bodily fluids and the sleep deprivation and the puppy snuggles.

There’s no one in the world I’d rather do this with than you.

Happy Birthday, bebe! I love being a family with you.
143 Ash

Month 24

earest Courtland Whaley,

Thinking back on the month of August two years ago, I remember that desperate feeling of wanting you here. In the outside world. In my arms. With us. Here. I would roll over in the middle of the night, your wild, vigorous kicks and punches from within hinting at your feisty personality, and whisper to your Daddy that I just wished that you would arrive. I wanted my youngest daughter here. With me. In the world. Here.

When I think back on your birth, I remember muttering those very words, as though a mantra to help get me through the contractions. I would rock, and moan, and repeat over and over, I just want her here. I want her here. I want her here. I knew that each wave of pain brought me that much closer to your arrival. To your being here. I could manage the pain if it meant it would bring you to me. If it would bring you here.

My first words upon your arrival were just that. As my midwife placed you in my arms, I babbled, Oh my god, you’re here. You’re here. You’re here.

Your presence, your physical existence, your being here, was all that mattered. It was all I needed to fall hopelessly, unconditionally, forever in love with this wonderful, wild, wacky little girl. Your being here has made all the difference. It has brought so much love, and joy, and perspective, and patience, and wonder to our family.

I just need you here. That is all I need. You, my Whaley girl, with me.

This month you learned to say I love you, and you stammered it to me as I left for work the other morning, unprompted, without my initiating the words of affection.

I will remember the way it made me feel always. I will carry that feeling with me through all the ups and downs still to come, and know that you, my Wacky Kaki, bring a sense of peace and purpose, like the eye of a hurricane, that has changed me forever for the better.

Happiest 2nd Birthday, my darling.

I love you, always. Thank you for being here.

143 Mama

Month 23

y sweet, wild, paradoxical Courtland Whaley,

You are nearly two full years old, and while I can barely believe that so much time has passed since your arrival, I’d wager that every stranger you meet assumes that you are nearly a full year older than your actual age. You are not only bigger than all the children in your classroom at school, you’re also taller than all the kids in the classroom above that. You level out with the three years olds. I am not exaggerating in the least.

I’ve worried that since you often choose to express yourself, um, physically, you might be causing some issues for your teachers and peers. They assured me, however, that you refer to all of your classmates as your babies and attempt to mother them accordingly. We see such affection at home frequently and it is the much needed antidote to your flails and kicks and hair pulls. I don’t even want to mention your biting because omg that shit is not happening and yet it has and James I are horrified but then you follow it up with sweet baby snuggles and STOP MESSING WITH MY HEAD KID!

And seriously, no more biting. Not cool. Not cool at all.

It’s clear that you are a physical kid. Whether hugging or hitting, human contact is central to how you operate. I’m convinced that this is because your language is far behind where your sister’s was at this stage, and so you are unable to verbally communicate and must resort to touch and physicality. I’m not worried about the language, it’ll come when you’re ready. You understand what we say to you and you are hyper-observant, methodically taking in your surroundings or observing how your sister plays or how your mommy and daddy are communicating. There is no lack of thought or emotion or understanding, just a rather premature handle of the English language. But, that will come, and in the meantime we’ll delight in your “Ma-mee” and “Dah-dee” and “Dis-der” and “Whyyyyyy.” And we’ve all mastered the appropriate blocking technique for your flailing limbs when you’re rendered frustrated by us not understanding your points and babbles.

In a bout of what some might refer to as a regression, you’ve taken to riding in the Ergo, front carrying. You point at the carrier, demanding “backpat,” and then pat on your tummy with both hands like jolly ol’ Saint Nick. It’s your way of ensuring that I put it on properly so that you and I are squished together, face to face. The feel of your body pressed against my chest with your arms scooped under your chin or draped up by my neck have saved me this week. And, well, I’ll happily carry you in the Ergo even after your feet drag on the ground. I don’t mind one bit.

I love you with all my heart, (not so) Little One.

143 Mama

Month 22

ourtland Whaley,

The tides have turned!

It is official. You are now far easier to put to bed than your Big Sister. I can’t believe that I’m even writing those words for fear that you personally will bite me in the butt (I wouldn’t put it past you), but it’s true. This month, your rolls reversed. After 21 months of restless nights, bedtime hysterics, and much pillow weeping, you now go to bed with near ease. While your sister negotiates and whines and deliberates back rub after hair play after bedtime story after potty break after drink of water after I AM GOING CRAZY! – you, my ever-affectionate second born, nestle into my arms for a rock and a cuddle before curling up like a stink bug, butt straight in the air, arms tucked beneath your belly, with your blanket draped over your entire person (head included. You and your sister have inherited your father’s propensity for suffocated sleeping conditions. It makes me claustrophobic just thinking about the three of you with blankets and pillows draped over your heads while you slumber.)

*shudder*

You now pretend to read, blissfully pointing at words in your books while declaring, “A-E-A-E-A-E.” You have mastered those two letters, and they substitute for the other 24 whenever you sing your ABCs. It is nothing short of perfection, so I will never correct it, so enamored am I of this phase.

You love cheese with all your heart and soul (thus the C selection for this letter). You would do anything for cheese, even endure days of constipation in the name of massive dairy consumption. In that sense, you are your mother’s girl.

You also can scale your changing table in 10 seconds flat and the other day I discovered you on the brink of attempting a leap from your changing table perch into your crib. Apparently you think your SUPER BABY!

You display similar antics around swimming pools. And you think running away from your parents near crowded, car-filled streets is more hilarious than when Hanna licks your ear.

Related: I am officially going grey.

You continue to be affectionate and huggy and kissy and all that ooey gooey amazing I am going to squeeze you to pieces and it never ever gets old. Never never. Tonight as I rocked you at bedtime, you draped both arms around my neck and then gently patted by back in rhythm with my swaying.

Don’t ever change.

143 Mama

48 Months.

My darling darling Addison,

Happy happy 4th birthday to you! I can’t even believe that I am saying those words. How on earth is it possible that you’ve been in our lives four whole years – and yet, how is it possible that it’s been so few? I feel like you and I have always been a pair – a bold, dancey, blonde duo that takes on the world with excessive layering and the wiggles.

You are one of my favorite people in the entire Universe. You are so kind and thoughtful and sensitive, even at just 48 months of life. You’re so very in tune with people’s emotions, empathetic to the core, expressing sorrow when I shed a tear, offering aid when your sister is frustrated, giggling righteously when your daddy cracks a smile. This trait is so very admirable and dear. You feel things deeply, and while that will at times feel debilitating and overwhelming, it will make you an amazing friend, partner, sister and daughter. You already are.

I missed your tree house birthday party in South Carolina due to some truly outrageous issues with the airline, and headed back home to the farm completely devastated that I would not be by your side as you blew out your fourth birthday candles. I awoke at 5am the next day, determined to be with you on your actual birthday, our BIRTH DAY, even if I’d missed the festivities. I needed to be with my eldest daughter, the person who truly made me a mother. I needed to be with you as you turned four, because no matter how many numbers are attached to your existence, you will always be my baby, and I will always need you more than you could ever possibly need me.

Loving you is effortless.

Happiest of birthdays, Sunny girl.

I love you to the moon and front.
143 Mama

Month 21

y little ham,

I wish I had the energy to give this birthday letter the proper attention it’s due, but instead I will share this series of pictures that highlights your independent, adorable personality.

You are such a little person now. And such a sweet and affectionate one at that. Your mood is still extremely volatile, but when you want to turn on the cute, man, watch out! Our barn will be housing a pony in the future if we don’t learn a defense against it.

You, like Ursa, are blissfully unaware that anything is wrong or scary. The other morning, you spent breakfast racing back and forth between Ursa and Hanna, literally smothering them in toddler hugs. Hugapalooza 2013 was in full effect. And it couldn’t have come at a more perfect moment. Keep showering the world in hugs and kisses, and we’ll always return the favor.

Happy 21 months, big girl. We love you so.

143 Mama

THREE OH

Hello Thirty! I’m greeting you with a big, sloppy, open-mouthed kiss!

It’s a funny thing, this welcoming a new decade. A few year’s ago, I would have predicted that I would be rocking in a corner weeping to mark this milestone. But a few year’s ago, I would have also predicted that on this day I would be a single woman living on the beaches of California.

My my my, how life is anything but predictable.

I was talking with a family friend about how comfortable I was with the new pronumber (totally a thing, right? Like pronoun, for numerals) that I’d be attaching to my age this month and that I was surprised by the relative calm, even excitement, I felt for the decade ahead. She responded that she always knew that her life was just as it should be when she welcomed birthdays with ease. If you’re content, why would you panic at the passing of another year?

And it’s true, I feel unbelievably lucky to be living the (unpredicted) life that I do. I never in a million year’s would have expected any of it at this stage in my life, and yet, I cannot possibly imagine it any other way.

This past decade was THE DECADE OF MAJOR LIFE EVENTS. Literally, James and I tackled nearly every major life milestone in our 20s. Heck, we met at the man’s 20th birthday party – so it began the moment we entered it. Education? Marriage? Home ownership? Children? Check! Check! Check! Check!

There is something so liberating about closing the books on that wonderful whirlwind that categorized our 20s and entering a new decade with zero expectations besides a better appreciation and awareness that life is joyfully, heartbreakingly unpredictable. I have no major goals. Or bucket lists. Or any sort of cliché agenda for my 30s. Beyond learning how to make a quilt and witnessing the birth of a child (from another body besides my own), I demand very little from this decade.

In fact, as I’ve been approaching my birthday and reflecting on the past thirty years, I keep circling back to the day that it all began, and thinking about my parents, specifically my mother, and what an amazing and remarkable thing happened on April 22, 1983. Now as a mother myself, I recognize the significance of birthdays for both the celebrant and the mom of the celebrant. My birthday is my mother’s Birth Day. And that is a more powerful thing than most of us acknowledge. On both Sunny and Kaki’s birthdays, I can’t help but be transported back to the day that they arrived, the day that we worked together to bring them into this world, and reflect on what a wild, weird, wonderful thing human life really is. (God, I do love me some alliteration).

So today, on my Thirtieth Birthday, I want to say thank you to my own mother for being strong and brave, especially on that day thirty years ago. Thank you for bringing me into this fragile, beautiful, incalculable world so that I could one day know the power of birthdays and a mother’s love, and wish you, mom, a Happy Birth Day.

Here’s to another unpredictable decade!

Month 20

h my darling Kicky Kaks,

I’m beginning this letter with this photograph because it captures the essence of everything Courtland in one quick frame. You are a total ham, my darling. A ridiculous, hilarious, frenetic ball of energy that sweeps through our home leaving laughter and laundry and trash and tears and books and mud in its trace. You have a smile that kills me dead with every over-the-top “CHEETH!” and accompanying giggle. You set out to make us smile, and for that, we are eternally grateful. You bring us so much joy.

I’ve been saying it for 20 months, but the highs with you are so very high, and the lows, well, like a black hole. There’s this new Tumblr called “Reasons My Son Is Crying” and I could so very easily create a comparably absurd tribute to your wails of discontent on a hourly basis.

I didn’t let you take your nap in the refrigerator.

Grass tastes funny.

You’re wearing shoes.

I didn’t put toothpaste on the toothbrush in under 0 seconds.

Dog food is not your dinner.

Ursa licked your hand.

Your sister is now playing with the book that you flung across the room in disgust.

I won’t let you sit in that puddle of water.

You’re wet.

Daddy didn’t let you hold the butcher knife.

I didn’t buckle you into your highchair.

I did buckle you into your highchair.

And so on…

Your world is more tumultuous and drama-filled than a day time soap. And your execution of a full on tantrum of body and soul is Oscar-worthy. The arching and flailing and kicking culminates in the defeated limp body with great shrieks and screams fading into a staged and lugubrious wail. You will literally plod around the house, shoulders slumped, moaning on queue whenever you notice that our attention is aimed your way. It reminds me of this priceless display. You toddlers sure are a piece of work. I now understand the whole “terrible twos,” a phenomenon foreign to this household until your arrival. Much like your height, you’re tackling this milestone ahead of the curve.

But despite all the tears, and boy does it feel like our days are tuned to a soundtrack of your cries, there truly is so much happiness. And cheeky smiles. And laughter. And delight. And babbling new language and attempts at communication. I will never forget what it feels like for you to stop the world in its tracks by holding my face in your hands and planting a kiss on my mouth, just because the moment struck you as one to pause and demonstrate your affection. I treasure that about you.

Happy 20 months, kiddo. You sure are on your way to 2.

143 Mama

Month 19

ear Courtland,

Today, while you raced around the hallway outside of Sunny’s ballet class, merrily proclaiming, “BEH-BEE!” at the array of small, baby siblings in your company, parent after parent awed at your sweetness, particularly those bouncing pigtails and that silly toddler voice, and inquired about your age.

When informed that you were just over a year and a half old, there was collective jaw dropping and No way-ing. It is hard to believe that you are not well over two – what with your towering height that is single handedly pushing up the national average. We aren’t kidding when we say that you are OFF the charts. Your weight is comparably advanced – oh how I adore that round, protruding belly – an adorable reminder that despite your refusal to eat most food and preference for flinging it wildly and dramatically on the floor, across the room, or in my face, you are in fact absorbing calories from somewhere. The source remains a mystery, but your size is reflective of its existence. It’s clear that you are going to have one envious athletic body – whether or not you’ll put it to use remains unclear. Will you be sneaking into the house at 5am after a late night of cow-tipping-teenage-country tomfoolery or just waking up to pound protein shakes before 6am pool practice? Whatever it is you do, it will be with the fierce intensity with which you’ve always approached this life.

Much like your height, your language grows by the day and is a constant source of entertainment and mimicry. We love to pronounce “BEH-BEE” and “CHEEEE-TH” with the same nasally E emphasis. Or “Ma-MA!” and “Da-DA!” with that distinct bravado of an Italian Giovanni. Sunny rattled off your favorite words during dinner, “Cheese,” “Mommy,” “Daddy,” “Boat,” “Balloon,” “Moon,” “Sister,” “Please,” and “Baby,” and you didn’t miss a beat in responding with great enthusiasm and pride.

As your language abilities grow, so do your physical ones. You now descend the stairs like a fully-functioning adult. It scares the poop out of me (something I dare say you’d find hilarious given how mightily you laugh and delight in your own flatulence), but I cannot convince you to crawl down backward, or even descend on your bum. No, you walk down the stairs, step by step, holding the railing with one hand, fully upright, with chin tipped high with pride. It’s clear that you want to be able to exist in the world with the same ease and ability as your sister, which is why every night before bath, once your diaper is removed, you insist on being put on the adult potty. You never pee or poop, but just hover over that bowl, pleased to heck that you’ve joined the Porcelain Throne sitting club. I so hope this is a sign of easy potty-training days to come.

My favorite development this month has been your love-affair with books. A few months back, I worried to your daddy that we weren’t reading to you enough. Every time we’d try to sit you down to read a book at bedtime, you’d squirm and fuss and fling yourself out of our laps. You did not have the patience for reading and showed very little interest in joining in our bedtime story routine. This concerned me, since that has always been a part of your sister’s daily life. But this month, something changed – a combination of growing tolerance for activity over 60 seconds in length and an ability to comprehend and enjoy images on a page. We now spend 90% of our time with you flipping through page after page, book after book. You are entertained for hours by our bookshelves of board books. I love that I can settle into a chair and you will shuttle story after story my way, and then you will sit happily and joyously in my lap through each one.

Now, our final activity before bed is reading “Goodnight Gorilla,” far and away your favorite story. You find the balloon, the banana, and the moon on each page, quietly babbling under your breath as you take in each new animal that emerges. My favorite moment is when the old woman in bed awakes with a start to the spread of animals surrounding her and you laugh and laugh, pointing at Gorilla’s cheeky grin and the old woman’s wide, surprised eyes.

Keep that sense of humor always, my love, and life will truly be a joy.

Happy 19 months, sweet girl.

143 Mama