She's Eight

Dear Lucy,

In keeping with looking up the meaning behind the number you’re turning, I should not be surprised at the uncanny alignment; how appropriate that the number eight encompasses virtues like inner wisdom, inner strength, and self-confidence. These are all traits of which you have in abundance.

It has been quite the year. We are still living in / through / a pandemic. There was a brief downturn in cases, a vaccine was approved; both Daddy and I got our doses, thankfully. Just around the time of our vaccinations, the Delta variant appeared in March of 2021. Currently, Pfizer, is on the docket for approval of the vaccine for kids as young as five. 

Beyond the trappings and what has become an odd normalcy of living in a pandemic, for you, most notably, included the successful completion of the entirety of first grade via virtual learning. You were fortunate in that your Kindergarten teacher, Mrs. R., was able to loop with your class from Kindergarten. Having a teacher with which you were already comfortable, helped significantly. The other big factor was Daddy. He quit his job to stay home to get you through the whole school year. You both had your good and bad days, but in the end, I saw how this time together changed your relationship for the better. You and Daddy are much closer now, and it’s a beautiful bond to see. It’s clear how much you love each other. When second grade started, there were some jitters, as it had been since March of 2020 when you last step foot both on a school bus or in a brick-and-mortar classroom. Thankfully, once again, you were fortunate enough to land an incredible teacher – Mrs. C. She has been nothing short of wonderful, and you delight being in her classroom; she has said as much that she feels similarly having you as a student. Just a few years in this building, and so many adults know who you are, and smile brightly at your presence – we saw it firsthand when we attended your Back-to-School night.

After the stilted summer of 2020, this past summer was heaps of fun. We were able to go on a few adventures and get out of town, as well as host some visitors. We spent two weeks, you and I, in California. While there, we were fortunate enough to attend Aunt Shannon and Uncle Mike’s long-awaited baby shower. You were Aunt Shannon’s helper, passing out party favors to the guests who drove up, as it was a drive-by shower, given the precautions required in a pandemic (which continues, unfortunately). While in California, we also took a mini vacation with the family to Palm Springs. It was HOT, but you never complained, just happy to spend the hours away in the pool. The final highlight of our trip to California was the movie you began filming with Uncle Mike. A horror one to boot! It was both an eye-opening and unforgettable experience.

We also took an amazing family vacation in Michigan. None of us were prepared for how beautiful it is there; lakes Michigan and Huron were stunning with clear waters that looked as if they were straight out of the Caribbean. We hiked, we canoed, we kayaked, and we paddle boated. It was an awesome time, to say the least.

Singing and dancing remain a staple of yours, and we outfitted you with your own Spotify account, and you have made tremendous use of it, discovering new music, and surprising us with how many songs you know. One of the musical highlights for you this year was your first concert. Grandma took you to see the KISS tribute band, Mr. Speed. According to Grandma, you sang along with every song played, and when you got to meet the band during the “Meet & Greet” after the show, they both complimented your look (pleather pants and jacket and a bedazzled KISS mask) and gave you a fist-bump.

You are physically growing, growing, growing. All legs! Currently you stand at 4' 5", which is a whole three inches since your seventh birthday. Currently, your aspirations include being a singer, a model, a YouTuber, possibly a writer/director, or maybe hair and makeup. This past year your reading skills have exploded and to date, you have read two Dog Man books. Our roles have flipped, and you now read to me in the evenings, which is lovely for the both of us. "The Amazing World of Gumball" is still your go-to show. You are slowly becoming more adventurous with food, showing a willingness to try things that previously, you’d quickly dismiss. This summer you conquered your fear of jumping into the deep end of the pool, and I now feel confident in your ability to be safe around deep waters. You have a lovely circle of friends, and it never fails that wherever we go, you quickly find someone to play with.

Lucy, you make an impression on everyone you meet. I say this all the time and stand by it: you are so deeply self-aware with an uncanny ability to articulate your thoughts. You are in tune with the world around you, observing the nuance in both people and situations. Your heart is one of the biggest spaces you occupy, and the kindness you exude is limitless. You have mentioned to me, on more than one occasion, that you’d like to foster and adopt older children because you know that babies are more desirable, and you want older kids to feel love and acceptance. Your personality often shines through your fashion choices, of which you are fiercely unapologetic. For this year’s birthday photos, you decided to style yourself in a suit. In support of this decision, I sourced a suit and had Nana’s help in altering the pants, because suits tailored for girls are impossible to find. When we were out and about that morning, several folks passed by us, and all of them complimented you on your look which was stunning, fierce, and beautifully sweet. The camera never lies, and you posed yourself, owning and rocking that suit like a pro with the confidence of someone who has lived beyond just eight years. Conventionality has no hold over you, and I reminded of a passage in a beloved story. In the sequel to The Wizard of Oz, known as The Marvelous Land of Oz, L. Frank Baum writes: “That proves you are unusual,” returned the Scarecrow; “and I am convinced that the only people worthy of consideration in this world are the unusual ones. For the common folks are like leaves of a tree, and live and die unnoticed.”

In response to me saying something about how lucky I was to be your Mama, when you were just three, or perhaps it was when you were four, you responded with complete conviction: But I chose you. I picked you. Aside from the eerie sincerity of this celestial kind of declaration, to this day, I’m not sure what I have done in this lifetime of mine to deserve such a magical human to mother. But every day – even the difficult ones – I am grateful for your existence.

You are, unequivocally, noticed and loved by all you meet. What you’re destined for, I have no idea; and let me be clear – I am not holding my breath for something out of this world. You are to be exactly whomever you want. If that’s keeping a low-key life, then so be it. Whatever it is you will do, no matter what form it takes, no matter who you evolve into – you will no doubt leave an impact on the lives you encounter. I have seen it already.

The world is your red carpet, kid.

Happy eighth birthday, my sweet Lucille,

Love, Mama

 

 

 

 

I Did It

I did it.

I did the damn thing: got on a stage and competed as a bikini bodybuilder. To say this was no small feat is a monumental understatement, never mind the additional challenges presented in a global pandemic.

Those who know me are aware that I enjoy a good challenge, namely of the physical order. Athletics have always been a significant part of my life; being an athlete is single-handedly the reason I ended up in Pittsburgh. I was a gymnast, a swimmer for a brief stint, and a soccer player. I’ve run a marathon, been part of several marathon relay teams, run a half marathon, and completed a few sprint triathlons. There was a Tough Mudder a few years back that ended in a broken ankle, so technically I didn’t finish the full course, but I got through half before the horrific snap – but I digress. My point is, I’m always chasing something. Truth be told, I feel a little lost if I’m not preparing for some kind of a competition. It appears as though I’ve been hard-wired to be driven by physical goals. And because I’d run the gamut of all kinds of races by May of 2019, it came to no one’s surprise, least of all mine, that I’d go after the bodybuilding stage.  

Let me make a distinction here: my goal was always to step on stage to compete, but not necessarily as competitor. What I mean is, I’d never planned to make this my lifestyle – a highly unpopular reason to get on stage. My plan was to approach with a Rocky mindset: go the distance. Weight loss was not the goal, nor my greatest achievement – not even close. While I’m in awe of the physique I have built, the achievement I sought was the endurance. I didn’t need to beat Apollo, I just wanted to last until the final bell. There’s an entire sect of folks who say competing in a bodybuilding competition as a “bucket list” item is a horrible idea. They will cite the enormous leverage on the body required to reach this goal, and they’re not wrong – this is HARD AF. To get to, what is referred to as stage lean, requires significant sacrifice, not to mention potential severe tolls on the body – the physiological tax is considerable. At some point, you will be fighting against biological cues, as the body was not designed to function optimally below a certain body fat threshold. Towards the end, I felt hollowed out like a carved pumpkin for Halloween, and I was damn near tears on the daily. That being said, while it’s a gross generalization: there are risks to everything in life. That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t take on certain endeavors, I just see it as a need for proper education, guidance, and mitigation when possible. It is precisely why most hire coaches, and I was fortunate enough to have two on my road to the stage. And this is probably another faux pas, but honestly, IDGAF – both of my coaches were integral.

Summer of 2017

Let’s take it back to the summer of 2017. Lucy and I’d spent a lovely day with some friends doing the touristy Ducky Boat and ridden the Monongahela Incline. At the top of Mt. Washington, a photograph was taken of me and my girl. When I looked at that picture, I was taken aback by what I saw in myself: a woman who’d been consumed with Motherhood for four and a half years, and who’d allowed her own health to fall to the bottom of the priorities list. I was 39 and the heaviest I’d ever been. It was then and there that I decided I would become “Fit by 40,” and find my mojo again. I was a former Division I athlete, dammit. I could and would build back the body of a healthy and strong woman that I knew existed inside of me. So that’s exactly what I did. I began running with friends at work in the mornings before school. I did Weight Watchers. My combined efforts helped me drop about 20 lbs., but then I stalled. In October of 2018, as I was recovering from the broken ankle, I hired, on the suggestion of my dear friend J, Adam. Adam took me on as a lifestyle client and helped me drop another 20 lbs. Seven months later, I’d bitten the apple. In May of 2019, I went from a lifestyle client to a competition client. Adam helped me build for a few months, and then we began prep in August of 2019. I chugged and persisted until March of 2020, dropping another almost 25 lbs, when the rug got pulled out from under me and the world succumbed to a pandemic. I was roughly two weeks out from the stage. And it all just vanished. Initially, we decided to hold steady and watch to see what shows would go on, but the constant cancellations and moving target end-date proved to be too difficult, so I made the decision to begin reversing (slowly raising calories, and lowering cardio), and shelve the stage for a year.

Perhaps it was the isolation of the pandemic, maybe it was burn out – there were so many variables, but in May of 2020, I made the decision to end my coaching with Adam, and move on to Mark. There were no hard feelings; I was sensing a complacency in myself, and needed a more militant kick in the ass, and a change in protocol scenery. Mark provided what I needed at that point in my journey and the road to the stage continued with a nine and a half month building phase. In January of 2020, once again, I began to prep.

The current narrative lends itself well to the platitude: things happen for a reason. This prep was different in so many ways. I wasn’t a newbie and knew what to expect. My adherence was damn near perfect, and even though I could choose the foods that fulfilled the macros prescribed to me, unlike my last prep, I made nutrient dense selections. Fitting in that gourmet cookie, or the pint of Enlightened ice cream, never factored into my train of thought. And honestly, I felt better, even into the gritty final weeks when cardio was high and food was low. I do believe there’s truth to quality, and that not all calories are equal in terms of biological benefits. That’s not to say that folks who fit in the treats aren’t successful, because there are plenty who do, and are just fine. For me, anecdotally, the whole foods route worked really well, and I was less susceptible to cravings of those highly palatable treats.

In the end, Adam brought me to the dance, and Mark helped me cross the finish line. For that, each deserves due recognition.

For all my history as an athlete, even at the highest levels of pressure and competition, nothing – and I mean nothing, compared to the intensity of preparing for the stage. The sheer mental and physical endurance required was astronomical. This was a relentless daily choice and dedication that I’d never executed and went far beyond the simple “no thank you” to an offered cupcake. Motivation waxed and waned; it was through absolute discipline, grit, and ganas that I hit the target. Planning, prepping, weighing out every morsel that I consumed, blocking out time for lifting and cardio, making sure I got my steps in each day – it was all-consuming.

But it was worth it, and I kept my head (mostly) along the way. There’s a dark side to this sport, one that comes with side effects not limited to, but including disordered eating and body dismorphia. Dieting down can also really mess up your relationship with food. Because I came to this sport a little later in life, I believe I was granted the advantage of having had many years to figure out who I was and recognize the depth of my personal capital. Here I was, willingly working towards getting on a stage in an itty-bitty, albeit beautifully bedazzled, bikini, and asking to be judged on my body. I knew before the show that no matter what happened, my worth did not rest in the critique of those subjective judges. Whether I placed or not, I firmly believed (cause believing is the important part), that I was a woman intact, whole and beautiful, strong and successful. The outcome of the show would not determine my mark on the world; I already had a life and existence that far-outweighed whatever medal or trophy (or apparantly swords, because as it turns out, I won 3 swords) with which I could ever walk away. The external validation, while nice (not going to say it isn’t), wasn’t necessary, because I’d already validated myself. There’s a shit-ton of self-work and self-love in those previous few sentences, a place to which I did not arrive easily. It took me years to get here, but I had help along the way, and one of my very first mentors was Laura Moses.

In high school, I played club soccer, and Laura was my coach. She was uncompromising in every sense, and she worked us doggedly. We had two-a-day practices in the summer under the hot sun, we ran miles upon miles on the strand at the beach, did sprints in the sand – and you know what? We were fit. We were a good little team, but even when our skills didn’t match up against another powerhouse club, we’d win simply because we could outrun them for the entire ninety minutes. I was always at the back of the pack when it came to fitness, the last one to cross the line, the goalkeeper bringing up the rear on miles long runs. I specifically remember one afternoon run at the beach. I was determined to keep up with the pack at any cost. I wanted so desperately to win some kind of accolade from Laura. So I did it. I kept up. And puked in the sand at the end of the run because I’d taxed my system so greatly. After discharging my lunch, I went up to Laura as the others were getting sips of water and asked her if she’d noticed that I’d kept up. She said, I did. Then turned away from me to call everyone into the sand for sprints. That gutted me – not even a simple “at a girl.” And it was then and there that I realized I could not rely on others to validate or praise my efforts. Laura helped me realized, I would have to do it myself.

Working towards a goal like this can be intensely isolating as the sport, by nature, is solitary. There  were definitely days when I felt the loneliness, but mostly I felt support by an entire squadron of friends and family. I cannot say enough about my friends, especially the ones I work with. I have raved about my colleagues, ad nauseum, and I will continue to do so. They buoyed me, daily. Checked in with me, asked thoughtful questions, responded to my posts with infinite encouragement, left flowers on my desk with thoughtful notes – honestly, I could go on and on. Friends outside of work sent texts and applause, regularly. J, my back-pocket-therapist talked me down off of several ledges, listened to my fears and frustrations, and always set me straight with just the right amount of care and tough love. J opened this door for me two years ago, helped me see what was possible, and for that I’m ever grateful. My parents were cheering me on from the get-go, and really, since Day 1. For anything I’ve ever attempted, even if they secretly harbored concern, they have always been ferociously supportive.

 

And then there’s Jesse and Lucy. My ride or die crew. The ones who endured along with me, who never complained when I was too exhausted to figure out dinner beyond “briner” or a frozen pizza or takeout. Who never made me feel bad when it got to the point that I was eating my extra lean ground turkey and 
they were enjoying heaping servings of spaghetti, or giant bowls of ice cream. My husband who understood I needed to retire to bed between 8 and 8:30 in order to be up at “four ass early.” My daughter who had to go for walks with me more times than I can count because I couldn’t leave her home alone, and I needed to hit my 10k steps. While I was doing the work in isolation at the gym, they were absolutely affected by the time I spent away from them – and they were just as much a part of this whole endeavor. I know my daughter watched it all, took it all in. I can only hope she saw a mama determined, and a woman who prioritized her own goals, not allowing the responsibilities and obligations of life to overrule her ambitions.

So what’s next?

Truth is, I'm not sure. Initially I had intended to do one more show at the end of July, but in the last couple of days, it has become clear to me that I got what I needed. I met my goal, I feel incredibly satisfied, and there is zero compulsion driving any need to do this all over again. And the best part? I am completely at peace with this decision. Zero regrets. For the immediate future, my focus will be lifestyle related: I’d like to figure out a balance of being physically active, but without an extreme carrot. Maybe hike more. Throw the bikes on the hitch and rack, and ride more. I want to sleep in and sip coffee on Saturday and Sunday mornings. I do have a photo shoot scheduled for later this month, as I'd like to immortalize this physique I worked so hard to build, but other than that I’m going to take my time to properly reverse, bringing my body back to a healthy and sustainable weight, and enjoy an indefinite respite from the all-encompassing mind absorption that is prep.

I have learned so much through this process, but the two biggest takeaways are that I am stronger than I thought, both mentally and physically. This was supposed to have been accomplished a year ago, but because of the pandemic, it stretched another year. There were so many days I just did not want to do it - but I refused to throw in the towel. I couldn't have come all this way to not see it through. Two years I labored at this, and for two years I proved to no one but myself that I could do really hard shit. The second takeaway, and probably the most profound, is that I am loved. The outpouring of support, the gifts, the recognition and acknowledgement from family and friends has been beyond anything I ever expected. That will stay with me long after the lines of my physique have faded.

Not too bad for this almost 43 year-old, if I do say so myself.

 

She's Seven

Dear Lucy,

Seven is the number of luck and magic and folklore.

Every birthday, I write to you in an attempt to capture how much you’ve grown and the ways in which your existence is a recurrent metamorphosis. This year feels a little different – this year our little bubble has been permeated by the world and the hammer that’s been dropped. Our country has experienced incalculable losses, incredible divisions in politics, and the systemic racism that has been the underbelly of our nation, has finally reached a boiling point. If there was ever a moment in history that we needed some luck and magic, it is right now.

Your ability to see the world has become more focused. The commercials on television, the signs in peoples’ yards – all of it is noted. When you ask questions such as what does Black Lives Matter mean, I answer. There is no point in hiding truth, however I privately struggle between wanting to keep you wholly innocent and wanting to help you understand. Therein lies my inherent privilege – our privilege: the choice (for better or for worse) to keep certain truths from breaking the surface. And because literally all of parenting is making a billion choices a day, some of those require a leap of faith. A trust in my fundamental beliefs; as such, I choose to answer your pointed questions in language you can understand. In doing so, I am aware that my responses are always underscored by my own bias – I would be foolish to believe otherwise. So while I want you to think for yourself, I know that what I say carries an enormous amount of weight in these early formative years. This is not something to be taken lightly, so my words are selected as carefully as possible and delivered in a manner that hopefully allows you space to question and consider. There is no topic off limits, nor do I wish there ever to be – I want you always to be able to seek me out, and if I don’t know the answer I will humbly admit it so, and perhaps together we’ll dive into the unknown. I’m doing my best, kid, but yeah let’s acknowledge that your Mama is most certainly a liberal who believes that women, not laws, should manage their own bodies, science is legitimate, love is love, and the right to be viewed and treated as an equal, no matter where you are from or the color of  your skin – are human rights. If those inherent biases make you a "bad"  person, I will still sleep well. Sometimes, my love, good trouble, is good.

Aside from the gravity of the world’s turmoil, you are experiencing some on a personal and developmental level. Dad and I have noted that the sass factor is off the charts. Holy smokes, kid – you are pushing the limits, and often. Just when I think I’ve gotten a good foothold on my patience, an eye-roll, or undesirable tone of voice response, sends me reeling. You ALWAYS have to have the last word. You are challenging us in ways that have tested our follow-through, and I’m going to be honest – we’ve definitely faltered. We are humans and often exhausted, and follow-through requires attention to detail and discipline.

But more and more, you are also recognizing the impact of your actions. Just the other day after some unfavorable response, through tears, you asked if you were a "bad" kid – this to which I quickly corrected explaining that sometimes you make bad choices, but are most definitely not a bad person. You were forthcoming in expressing that you don’t always know why you do or say things in a way that’s upsetting, and we talked that through. Lucy – you are so aware. So incredibly aware and introspective for your age. Mistakes happen, it’s inevitable. And yes, there will be consequences, but no matter what, we love you always. We are your safe space, where mistakes are met with forgiveness and nurture.

It is during these windows that I am most cognizant of what feels like the colossal responsibility of being your Mama. When you find yourself questioning your own integrity, and especially when you question your own beauty. Out of nowhere, you have decided that the freckles on your face are undesirable. Where you received or conjured this message is beyond me. This is the slippery slope – the one I would much rather avoid all-together, the one I know has the ability to unravel even the most tightly woven net of confidence. At just seven years old, you have begun to question what you see in the mirror. This, out of fear, pokes the ferocious bear inside me. As your Mama, as a Feminist, and as the fierce champion of your confidence, I want to smash this doubt dead on the spot. How do I convey to you how beautiful you truly are in such a way that you believe me? And as well, that you understand worth is not determined by beauty. It's so much, and maybe too much for you to understand right now. Perhaps you are testing me? To see what my response is? Regardless, I will tell you endlessly, when you come to me with questions of your beauty, that you are in fact, beautiful. That I look at you and see exquisite art in your face, the way your eyes smile – and yes, those endearing and delightful freckles. You are a magical vision, my love, and so much more. 

Your sense of rhythm is quite impressive and you can often be found twirling and dancing downstairs to your own Spotify playlist. Lucky for you, our neighbor, two houses down, was a dancer. She has offered private lessons in tap and ballet. Should the dancing lessons not work out, then let it be one step closer to finding what makes you most happy. You continue to love watching Portlandia with Dad, and Schitt’s Creek with me. Barbie has entered your world, and you are all about the dolls and accessories. You learned to ride your bike during the quarantine, and enjoy taking walks with me when the weather allows for it. Your love for Olive has grown exponentially, and I love how you love her. Virtual learning has had its perks, like staying home with Dad, but you are bored and have even remarked that you wish you were back in the school building – I think mostly to see your beloved teacher, Mrs. Ritson, and your friends. School still really isn't your jam, though, and that's okay. You are getting better and better at reading, and still cite this skill as something you hope to master soon.

Seven years ago today you rewrote the blueprint of my daily existence. Seven years you have afforded
me the privilege of being your Mama. You emote with fervor, you question with command, and you love so affectionately and openly. You are a prime number divisible only by yourself, and you govern what autonomy you have with a healthy dose of moxie and a confidence I never knew so young.

Happy birthday, my sweet Lucille.

Love, Mama

She's Six

Dear Lucy,

In doing some research on your name, the etymology – Lucille is a diminutive of the Latin, Lucia. Keep digging and Lucia is the feminine of Lucius, which is derived from Latin Lucianus, an offshoot of the Roman Lucius — also known as "light."

From the beginning, I’ve known this: you are light.

What a perfect reflection of the six year-old you have become. Radiance that turns into prisms, the soft Autumnal shine that filters through trees bleeding their colors into winter – the kind of light that flickers and shimmers, light so bright it stings the eyes. Lucy, you are all of this and more.

This past year has been a series of remarkable events and moments, many that that have shaken our understanding of the footing we held. We were so cavalier. Kindergarten, bowled you over, and took me down too. And we are not out of the woods yet. This new place that holds so much promise has intimidated and frightened. It is not the familiar space where you reigned so comfortably for the past five years – where everyone literally knows your name, and you know every smile that has cared for you. Kindergarten is too big right now, and we are slowly chipping away at the scary. Sometimes this looks like happiness stepping off the school bus, and sometimes it's nights in tears begging me not to leave your side because you, “will miss [me] so much tomorrow at school.” So we’ve taken a step back, and I lay next to you, my hand on your back, whispering encouragements, and sometimes nothing at all – just being present with you, and existing in the fear,  in tandem. By your side I remain, as much as I can be, until the sun orchestrates a new day, and you are left to square up, once again.

The weight of this new challenge comes on the heels of an incredible summer. Dare I say a storybook couple of months. You’ve nearly nailed down the skills to swim, moving longer and longer stretches across the skin of the pool and beneath. You love the water, Lucy. We went more times to the pool this year than in any summers past. We traveled, hiked, climbing mountains in Colorado, touched waterfalls. You became my assistant on photography shoots, for which you charge $5. And to be quite honest, you’re immensely helpful, holding the reflector when need be, and getting the attention of easily distracted little ones. There are moments when you even pipe up and suggest a shot! It’s fabulous to see you thinking in terms of light and composing a frame. And the camera – it loves you. You remain my favorite muse.

Gymnastics has fallen by the wayside, and currently you’re not involved in anything. I panicked for half a second, worried the absence of organized sports or activities would lead to your eventual downfall, but then quickly righted my thinking: You. Are. A. Child. You need not do anything but explore, and play, and exist. I suspect you’ll eventually find something, but for now, we’re all okay just living the day to day.

Current favorites include The Amazing World of Gumball, Nailed It, Sugar Rush, and Portlandia. Yes, Portlandia. Taylor Swift is often requested, purple and turquoise are colors of choice, you’re all about expression through makeup and hair (dyed pink just before school started), and you chose to have your ears pierced. Crafting and drawing drive your creativity, and there’s not an empty paper towel cardboard roll that stands a chance against your scissors. Empty toilet paper rolls become bejeweled bracelets worn as high fashion. You love spending time with Daddy outside tossing the ball, and you’ve become friends with neighbors Nick and Charlotte, both three years your senior. Occasionally you lament being younger, only because you wish you were in their same grade at school, otherwise the age difference is irrelevant. Your reading skills continue to progress and you can now sound out short simple words, on your own.

The thing about light is, it will always find the seam through which to shine. In your ability to make it through this phase, I have no doubt. These tough moments are what build backbone, and while painful to experience (and to watch as your Mama), are necessary. Today you are six and tangled among all the changes that have recently occurred. You are slowly navigating your way through, and I watch, as always, in awe at your resilience and simultaneous fragility. My little Libra, searching so hard for balance, wanting to do what’s right, and yet taking risks. Clouded under confusion, with moments of brilliant clarity.

Nothing good is built with hollow stones. Each milestone is a brick placed on the foundation to which you’re constructing – the eventual woman you will become. No matter the burdens you’re tasked to shoulder, remember always, in me, Lucy, you’ll forever have a space in which to rest and renew your spirit. 

You are light.

And because of this, I know you will be okay.

I know you wish / You had a brother who had blue eyes just like you / I know you wish
You had a sister you could tell your secrets to / Maybe we'll miss
Having four sets of china on the table / But I guarantee you this

You mean more to me than branches to a maple

Pink painted walls / Your face in my locket / Your daddy and me
Your tiny back pocket / Mama's first love / Last of my kind
You'll always be my only child

Happy Birthday, my sweet Lucille.

Sunrise, Sunset

Dear Lucy,

I wrote the following while on vacation this summer:

There is comfort in resting my ear against the fingered tines of your ribs, my body next to yours, sleeping - so small in this moment - curled into the blankets, like a seashell found buried in the sand at the shoreline. This is me, listening to the air moving in and out of your lungs - it's what we do sometimes, us Mothers. We listen to the breath of our children, the rhythmic pull and rush, like waves rolling in on themselves, steady and even. There is solace here. And what I hear, the rush-rush of your breath, is juxtaposed to what I'm seeking against the rainbow pajamas you chose because they're cooler, and summer nights spent sleeping in Nana's sewing room are warm. It's this rush I want to moderate, measure out in half beats so that I may inhale all of who you are and were, who you are becoming amidst the thief that is Time. If there was a way to rewind your body into the velvety soft bundle smelling sweetly of some illusive combination of talc and milk and spit up, rewind you into the cradle of my elbow, when we spent long snowy days together, your body tucked neatly into the curve of my arm - I would. 

But this is not how it goes, my love - this rush is not to be damned, impossible. This is all you, rushing, rushing away, and into your own person.

We have spent a magical summer together, so many adventures, each one better than the last. Everything from airplanes, hiking to incredible heights, baking cakes, swimming, and sleepovers. 

In a few short days you will begin Kindergarten. The uniforms hang neatly, a new lunchbox and backpack await, a small desk area has been prepared, you chose to pierce your ears, and dye your hair a wildly fabulous hot pink.You have memorized mine and Daddy's phone numbers, our address. You are ever so close to reading, and you love "plus" and "minus" numbers. Your vocabulary will blow them away.

You are ready.

But I am not.

I was not prepared for the overwhelming wave of emotion that has grabbed hold of me. I wrote to my superiors letting them know that I'd be into work a little late on your first day, as I would not miss sending you off on the big yellow school bus. And when those doors close behind you, swallowing you whole, I know you will do well. In your education, I have full confidence - you will be fine.

It's all the other parts of school that are terrifying to think of. Ad nauseam, I have repeated that it's your soul I want to protect. That self-worth and confidence we have worked so hard to nurture - will it remain intact as the world of school and friends do their thing, sometimes so painfully cruel?


Did I do enough? 

I have learned to let others love you. It started with the morning I dropped you off at daycare, entrusting your care with those wonderful women as I returned to other people's children. It began then, I know. But this feels vastly different.

My Blueberry Girl, I hope you know, deep in your bones, that you are loved fiercely, that you remember all the times we told you, you were brave, and strong, and kind, and generous, that it is okay to fail, that you will fail, that struggle is necessary, to stand up for yourself, speak out against the bad, and compassion for others goes a long way - that you believe all these for yourself.

This is my wish for you.

I hope I have done enough.

Love, Mama.

Sleep

Every year, when I teach AP Literature & Composition, I begin with Shakespeare’s tragedy, Macbeth. In order to gain a deeper level of understanding of the story, students are instructed to follow various motifs throughout the play, one of which is sleep. For the most part, sleep symbolizes innocence, purity, and peace of mind. Sleep, as it pertains to Parenthood, is remarkably similar.

When our babies are wee little newborns, daily life revolves around the clock and sleep, or lack thereof. It comes to no one’s surprise, after having gone through the trenches of this early stage, how potent sleep deprivation is as a form of interrogative torture. Sleep is a keystone in any discussion involving newborns, either by way of ruminations from an exhausted parent, or a well-meaning inquiring mind – How is she sleeping?

News flash – the sleep issues don’t necessarily end with the newborn stage. They evolve into considerations of bed-sharing, then maybe getting littles into their own cribs, then out of baby jail and into their own beds, keeping them in those beds, and so on and so forth. We won’t even get into the challenges of time changes. And just as frustrating and mind numbing as the world of sleep can be during this period in life, so too, can it be the most incredible.

One of the most cherished images I have of me and my daughter is a picture I snapped on my terrible faux blackberry, when she was just a week and a half old. She is nuzzled on my shoulder facing me, peacefully sleeping. If I close my eyes, I can almost conjure up the way the weight of her tiny body felt in my arms, the sweet smell of her head, and the tiny baby breath sounds she made. I am literally awash with contentedness just thinking about it. Her skin against mine conducted a symphony of oxytocin through my veins, a glorious orchestral sonata from which I hoped never to hear the end.

It's quite easy to forget the poetic rhythm of these moments, especially when all I’ve wanted to do was sleep peacefully myself. Fear, too, is an immense force: fear that she’ll not figure out how to self-soothe, fear that she won’t ever sleep in her own bed, and the fear that she won’t learn to stay in that bed, because my goodness, all the stories circulating, the ones you hear about and selectively fixate upon when you’re knee deep into sleep-training, serve only to highlight what you can’t get your own kid to perform successfully.

But one day, the knot untangles, and she figures it out.

Hard to say if it’s because of the fairy you invented and convinced her lives in her room to protect her, or whether it was the rewards chart, or if it was the militant week you spent returning her to her bed a la Super Nanny, hour after hour, night after night. She got it. She understands now that in our home, her bed is for her, and ours is for us. That her five year-old body doesn’t quite fit as comfortably as it once used to, and her sprawling ways generally end up smacking someone in the face. In fact, she’s often more comfortable in own bed because of this. She realizes now we all sleep better this way.

I’d be a fool to tout some cavalier belief that all our sleep challenges are long behind us. That would be laughable, because occasionally, she has a rough day or evening, and requests to sleep in our bed. We oblige when we see fit, but these happen less and less. Nestled there, though, lies the quandary, the double-edged sword I now find myself learning to handle.

I miss her body. Her smell. Her breath. This is not a constant, but rather an interloper hiding in the shadows of our days. When the feeling crests, it is visceral. I can’t always name it, I just know, impulsively, that I miss her. Sometimes the decision is easy – no, you need to sleep in your own bed tonight. Other moments, there is a physical beckoning, something beyond and greater than my own control that wants to say, yes, you can sleep in our bed tonight because I need you near me. These are fleeting, I know – not my need to be near her, but her wanting to be near me. I expect that as we broach and dive headlong into the teenage years, she won’t be asking much at all. Because of this it is my personal goal to try to pay attention to these moments, to remember that now is now. There will come a day, I presume, when we've circled back around the sun of teenagedom, and she will be all grown up and out of the house. Her body will not be near mine - at all. 

The other day I’d spent entirely away from her, in a studio photographing mothers and their children. I was struck, once again, by a fierce compulsion to be with my daughter and wrote the following:

Once upon a time, so many sleeps ago, I did everything I could to get you into your own bed and out of mine. And here we are, on this night, when all I want to hear is the rhythm of your breath, singing me to sleep.

She’d had a long day and was particularly whiny and overly emotional. As we were lying in the dark, drifting off, my hand around hers, I said, “I love being your Mama.” She didn’t say anything back - just squeezed my hand for several seconds.

There she was, lying next to me, purely innocent, and I was peaceful. The recurring motif in our little world. I inhaled all I could of her.

She’d not asked to sleep in our room - I volunteered the offer.

Because I wanted it.

Selfishly, I wanted my daughter next to me.

I needed her there.

With me.

Reading

Last summer you read your very first words: hero and jumbo. You were excited, I was electrified – we were both proud. In that moment we both pulled back the curtain ever so slightly, peering out onto a stage illuminated with infinite possibilities.

Reading has underscored my whole life. I devoured books, often at such a breakneck pace, that they couldn’t be purchased or checked out quickly enough to keep up with my insatiability. As quickly as I could get my hands on one, I was turning the last page and searching for the next. When I became pregnant with you, many daydreams involved reading to you as an infant, and then cuddled next to you at night taking you on adventures of magic where owls deliver messages, into the Big Woods of Wisconsin with Laura Ingalls, and through wardrobes where White Queens reign. I filled your shelves with stories I loved, and hoped you would love, too. And you do. We read nightly, always two stories (one long, one short). 

Letters make more sense now, and the concept of stringing them together to make sounds is becoming more and more familiar. It’s there, Lucy – you’re so close. Words are also something with which you’ve been fascinated; fragments of a kaleidoscope you constantly want to make sense of. So many times you’ll look up from your iPad and the benign garbage you’re watching on Kids YouTube and ask about a new-to-you word – Mom, what’s mercury? What’s similar? What’s quizzical? What’s tender mean? I never tire of these kinds of questions, and I’m always in awe of your ability to remember what the words mean, and how well you put them into use soon thereafter – Mom, Lady Gaga and Gwen Stefani look very similar when they both have the blonde hair. Sometimes, at night, after we’ve read our stories and sang our two songs (currently “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” and “Blackbird”), you ask me to tell you a story, and I am challenged to come up with something in the moment. It’s fun because you’ll pepper my narrative with plot twists your feel are necessary, or names of characters that seem to fit best according to your five-year-old fancy.

Last night I was upstairs reading, and you were downstairs watching “CHiPs” with Big Red, and I overheard you ask him, a few times, what the words on the TV said. In that moment, as my eyes slowed on the words in front of them, I set down my book and tried to imagine what it’s like to be you in this moment – to see letters and understand them as individual markers, to recognize a handful of words, but not be able to truly read. That the letters strung together are just fancy patterns, something to be admired, but a talisman not yet discovered.  

Photo by Pamela Salai Photography

You are Dorothy, Lucy, inside the ramshackle farmhouse, your hand on the doorknob. What awaits you on the other side is a world of Technicolor and enchantment. A seamless road that begins with words, and in which the in-between is colored by your imagination. There is no end, Lucy - only more.

You are so very close, darling. It’s all right there in front of you – the curtain begging to be drawn back, the stage revealed.