Dear Autumn: New Soles

Last night during your rub-rub, I was surprised when I got to your feet and they were a but scratchy.  I’m so used to them being super smooth but I remembered all the walking you’re doing.

I couldn’t help but smile

(. . . And pray that your feet never end up like your father’s ;).

Mama loves you.

Dear Autumn: Rocking You

I was already dreading last night – a full 24 hours before.

It was after 11 and your dad and I spent around 2 hours trying to console you and help you fall asleep. Deep whimper-like cries, tears pooling over your bottom eyelids, face red from crying.

Man, it was heart-breaking.

We tried everything we could think of: Lights on. Lights off. Lights halfway on. Nursing. Baby wearing. Bouncing. Outside. Inside. Toys. Silence. Humming. Singing. Talking. Essentail oils. Cold carrots. You name it.

Around 10:30 we went for a walk around the building and once my feet couldn’t take anymore I sat down on the curb while your dad paced back-and-forth, singing for at least 20 minutes. Finally, you knocked out.

O my gosh – is this what teething is like? Gahh! I can’t take it. I’m going to crack! How can we start to do this night after night? *Googles “teething” on my iPad while lying next to you in the dark* Is this even teething? What if it’s something else – and she’s suffering while I’m trying to help her with something that’s not the issue? The questions continued and the mommy-doubt that plagued me for your 1st two months of life started rearing up again.

~

Thankfully, last night actually was different. You were definitely still fussy but your dad and I started working ahead of the game and it seemed to make a difference; you didn’t get over-tired in the process. However, judging by the way things started out it looked like we would be in for it again – another hard night. But thinking the rocker might help, I asked your dad to put the legs back on and decided to give that and nursing a go. You latched on at first, but then proceeded to pop on and off to play with your toes. Apparently they were way more interesting than sleep, even while rubbing your eyes. ; ) I was tired myself but thankfully amusement won-out over frustration; you were just so cute, squealing with joy as you tried to bite your wiggling toes. Your dad and I were cracking up – as quietly as we could so you wouldn’t get excited and snap out of your sleepiness.

And then you settled into nursing, one chubby little hand covering up your right eye.

I breathed in and allowed my body to relax, realizing we were close to the end and the swaying movement was working. I looked around and tried to take it all in: soft light; warm spring weather, with a breeze drifting through; Nate unwinding close by; and me, rocking back and forth with my daughter. Man, this feels good. And right; meaningful.

And then I looked down at you, light brown mocha-colored skin. Leg draped over mine. Your weight sinking into me. That one stood out the most.

I tried mentally soaking all of it in. So sweet.

This simple moment meant so much to me. While most 24-year-olds in Austin spend their nights rocking out to music, partying, and hanging out, I spend mine rocking with you in a completely different way.

Mama loves you.

Dear Autumn: I do

I don’t know how staring at you sleeping in your carseat can evoke so many emotions, but it does. . .

Or how much I could love your chubby feet, little toes . .

and puffy hands. . . But I do.

See, I’ve never been the kind of person who likes to slow down.

Growing up, I couldn’t stand playing board games or reading books for that very reason: slow meant boring.

But with you, it’s just the opposite, and somehow, now, “slow” translates into fascinating, captivating, awe-inspiring.

Like stopping to watch you discover the texture of a bush’s twig: you coo and grunt, and scrunch up your face, eyebrows tightly knit; squeezing it as you close and open your tiny fist. And I watch closely and laugh and kind-of hold my breath because is this really happening? Do I really get to be lucky enough – blessed enough – to catch this twig-discovery moment taking place?

. . .  I do.

O Autumn, I want to memorize everything about you; have it burned into my memory with no hope of ever forgetting. Because you are extraordinary and I am painfully aware of how much I could never deserve you.

And yet here you are. Placed in my womb, my hands, my heart by a God and Father who loves us both unimaginably. Unconditionally.

Such grace.

Mama loves you.