A quarter turn

Dear Lillia,

Did you know that you wring your hands when you nurse? I mention this only in case, in twenty years, you wonder where you got the bad habit of wringing your hands while you study. You also stick your tongue out and hunch your shoulders when you toss your head back and laugh. And you're coy. When you are just so happy and excited that you can't contain it anymore, you dive into whoever has you and hide your face, peering out just a little. Or you throw your hands up in your face, which usually ends in a look of shock that someone would hit you when you were so happy a second ago.

This has been such a fun month for us. You're starting to chuckle at people (even to me, finally!) and you can sit and watch your big sister dance around the room for an hour. You grabgrabgrab everything and stuff it straight into your mouth and all I can say is that we're going to have to watch you like a hawk.

It helps that you can sit up now, you have since three months. And you roll over, but strangely enough you prefer being on your belly. In fact, you are so keen on moving around, that when you fall over sideways from sitting, I just let you be and you find your way up to your belly again. If you want to move around so badly, I figure you'll find a way.

You haven't slept well this month, I think from all the learning. And of course when you aren't sleeping, you yammer away at full volume to make sure no one is sleeping. There is nothing you do quietly. When you aren't getting your way, or you're in a lousy mood, you always need to get in the last word. You'll break off from comfort nursing several times just to remind me that you weren't happy a moment ago.

I'm working on a way to give you the space you need, as much as I want to be close. You so rarely fall asleep on my chest that when you do, I stay up longer just to enjoy the feeling. Despite all your little idiosyncrasies, there is no doubt that you hold a special place just for me and that is a wonderful feeling. Your smile is pure joy. I cannot express to you just how much I love it. I hope that as you grow and change, that look will never disappear.

Love,
mama

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a little something

Just a little something to tide you over until I get the girls' letters finished.

Bella calls this singing, which is fairly accurate since she can't do anything without singing along, especially play the piano.

Lia of course is content to do whatever Bella does.

(Until Bella decided that she ought to use the mallet to see if Lia knew how to sing, too.)

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breaking free

Some days I feel freer than others. Did I mention this was a very stressful week? It takes its toll on Bella, who rarely sleeps when the house is in turmoil.

So we run around in the rain. In mama's flip flops.

And spit on the ground where mama won't care. (And I try to turn my head when I see her licking it up after....)

And scream inside bowls just to hear the echo.

And get dough in our hair, because why not.

It's good to be free to be two.

(and good to be free to be scatterbrained because i just realized i didn't edit any of these photos. oh well.)

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and then

I wrote that, and then went to bed. And then I cried my heart out. Not for my own baby; we're on good terms.

It's been a long week and I've been rotten to my girls. So as we mamas do when the dam breaks, I hugged my girls extra tight, gave them an extra kiss, and let my eyes linger over them in wonder.

I cried for all the mamas who went to bed tonight with one less baby to kiss. No snuggles, no fuzzy hair in the nose, no precious lips, toes, or knuckle dimples. For them, looking into the stars will never be enough.

But sometimes it helps.

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Wave

**On October 15th, a wave of light will cross the world as we light candles for the pregnancies we have lost. Today (and always), please take the time to let the families in your life know that their lost babies are not forgotten.**

Yesterday was exhausting and I felt stretched in every direction. I tried to go out in the evening for fun, but in the end, the baby who had whined and fussed all day long was now crying inconsolably in the car seat. I hopped out of my car into the dark, clear night and looked up, relieved to find the stars.

There is something so comforting in a clear night sky - looking up, overcome by vertigo and infinity, feeling the presence of every spirit that has ever existed. To the stars, our lifetime is a mere breath. There is peace in that feeling of unity - that we are all infinitesimally small and the two feet or two thousand miles that separate us mean nothing. The ones who are so far away, the ones who have left us are right there whenever we pause to look up.

In that brief moment, something stirred in me and the sounds of Lillia's wailing faded. It has been so long since I last needed that calming spirit around me, so long since I felt it. Here I am, over three years since I felt my world falling in, and the baby I lost is just a passing memory, a spirit I barely have time to recognize. And yet, he is still there ready to breathe encouragement into my heart when I need it the most. The ones we love are never gone, but stay by our sides to remind us to cherish every moment.

For you, baby, I will light a candle tonight and carry the wave of light across the world.

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