Dear C,

11 months old.  One month shy of a year since we met you and became proud parents of a beautiful little girl.  While we have been proud of you since you were minutes old and wrapping your hand around Daddy’s finger and our hearts around your pinkie, it has only been in the last few weeks that I’ve felt like I could bust with joy when you accomplish something new. 

Like walking. 

And talking. 

And feeding yourself. 

And crawling up the steps.  (Actually, I don’t like this one so much.  Let’s stop doing it.)

You’re such an independent little soul.  You want to do things yourself, are constantly on the move and you never, ever sit still.  I guess this is pretty typical behavior for a baby of your age, but it’s still one of the most amazing things to your daddy and me. 

As you toddle across the room, your arms out to keep you steady, we look at each other and grin.  Each silently counting your footsteps.  One. Two. Three.  We make eye contact and our smiles get a little bigger.  Four. Five. Six.  Sometimes you stop to see if we’re looking at you and we hold our breath.  And then you toddle some more.  Off to get whatever has caught your eye.  Sometimes you make it all the way.  Other times you stumble and fall down.  Or, you simply decide you can get there faster by crawling, so you drop to your knees and take off. 

You’ve taken a lot of knocks the past few weeks.  It feels like you’re constantly bumping your head into something, falling down or pulling on something and smacking yourself in the face with it.  When you do and when it hurts, you cry big crocodile tears until someone scoops you up and smothers you with kisses.  We make promises that it will be all better by the time you’re married and show you a different toy and then, like magic, the tears stop and you’re begging to be put down. 

You’re such an inquisitive, happy little girl.  I hope you always find joy in the little things like sitting on the table, playing with a cap from one of your bottles or putting leaves in a plastic cup. 

I love you, sweet child.

Dear Baby Girl,

Soon I am going to have to start these letters with “Dear Little Girl” because you, my sweet thing?  You are leaving babyhood in the dust.  Every day you look and act more and more like a little kid and while sometimes, my heart swells so hard and so fast with pride for all of things you accomplish, other times it shatters into a hundred pieces as I think about how fast the last ten months have gone. 

When you crawl to the den time after time again, pull yourself up to the rocking chair and look back over your shoulder silently asking me to do my part, to lift you up and sit you in the chair so you can rock like a big girl, I think about the early days of your life when I would rock you to sleep in that very chair. 

When you stand up and suddenly let go, your chubby little legs shaking as you realize you’re no longer holding on, I think about the newborn who smiled sweetly but needed me to support her head when I handed you off to your daddy. 

When you wave bye-bye and blow kisses as I leave for work in the mornings and peek at me from around the corner of the chair when I come home, I think about how grateful I am for your sweet, smiling face.  How you make having a bad day impossible, because no matter what happens between 8am and 5pm, I get to come home to you. 

When I lay you down to sleep at night, and you sigh contentedly, roll over onto your belly and drift off, I pray that your sleep will always be this peaceful and sweet.  That you will always feel comforted and safe.  That you will always have people around you who love you.  And that you will always know where home is. 

And as I lay my head on my pillow a few hours later, I think about the sweet girl in the next room who gives my heart such joy, who gives our family such laughter and who gives my life such meaning. 

I don’t care how big you get, how many steps you take or how many milestones you leave in the dust, you will always be my baby girl and I will always love you the same way I love you today. 

Happy 10 months, peanut. 

Love,

Momma

Dear Baby Girl,

Nine months old today.  Nine months.  Some days it is so hard to imagine my life before you were a part of it and other days it feels like I just brought you home from the hospital yesterday. 

Before you came along, things were mighty different around our house.  I had my job, Daddy had his.  We’d chat about our days once they were over; sometimes over dinner, sometimes as we laid our heads down on the pillow.  I would take quick shopping trips in the evening or swing through happy hour. Daddy would stay at the school until the very last kid had left the weight room. 

Now?  Oh, sweet baby.  Now, we both rush home to see you.  To soak up the few short hours we have with you before you go to bed.  To make funny faces at you, to be silly, to read books.  To watch you pull yourself up on the furniture, both scared that you’ll fall and scared that in a few weeks or months you’ll be walking.  To blow raspberries on your belly, whisper in your ear and teach you to clap.  Where once it seemed like I had all the time in the world, there are now not enough hours in the evenings.

I don’t know why this time has to go so fast.  I don’t know who decided that a mother could blink and her squishy newborn would be a mobile baby.  Your clothes get packed away before you have a chance to wear many of them.  You play with toys a time or two before you’re bored with them.  And, just last week, we lowered your crib mattress.  Which made me cry and your daddy nervous.  (Turns out he was right, because two days later we say you on the monitor reaching for your nightlight.  I’ve never seen him run up the stairs so fast.) 

These moments we get with you in the evenings and the little bit of time we see you in the morning are not enough.  Time is moving too fast.  You are changing at the speed of light.  Inquisitive and curious about everything, you don’t slow down as you discover your world. 

And you are the center of our universe.  You are the person who made us a family and gives both of us something to rush home to. 

I love you, sweet baby.

Happy 8 months sweet girl. 

With every month time seems to go a little faster.  It’s crap, actually.  Just as I get all excited about you reaching a milestone, you’re on to the next one before I even have a chance to brag about it. 

It’s so funny to watch you throughout the day.  You are all sweetness when you wake up in the morning.  Smiling at me from behind the paci and stretching your legs as I take off your sleep sack.  If I want hugs or cuddles from you, it’s best to try to get them very early in the morning.  Once you’ve finished your bottle it’s “game on, people.”  You want down, you want to play, you want to crawl (well, in that army crawl, can’t get my belly off the floor, kind of way), you want picked up, you want to bounce. You want to go, go, go. 

You’re discovering things so fast.  Sometimes things like cords and the edges of the furniture, but also things like grass and pictures and water in the pool.  You love to be outside.  Just another thing that makes you so much your father’s daughter.  And you are such a little daddy’s girl.  If he is holding you, you will not go to anyone else.  Even me.  If I’m holding you I could give you to a total stranger and you’d probably blow me a kiss. 

Finally, in the evenings, after your bath and bottle, you wind down and let me cuddle you as I rock you before you go to bed.  I talk to you about your day and what you’ll do tomorrow.  Sometimes I sing to you.  As you listen to “The Rose” or “My Favorite Things” you close your eyes and with the same hand that pushes me away all day, you bat at my face or curl into my chest.  Your legs wrap around my side or kick out over the arm of the rocking chair and I easily remember when you looked small in my arms. 

So, it’s OK that you’re constantly on the go and it’s even OK that you want your daddy more times than you want me. Because at night, when it’s just you and me in your room as the sun starts to set, I know you still need me, just a little.

I hope that you always discover new things with the same curiosity, determination and intensity that you have right now.  And I also hope that when you take a break from taking on the world, you know that I will be here to hold your hand as you tell your stories. 

I love you so much, sweet child.  So very much.

Dear Baby Girl,

Today you are seven months old and with every day that passes you are learning or doing something new.  I stand back sometimes and watch as you take in your surroundings or test your limits, and I think about all of the times to come that you will tiptoe on the edge of indecision and test your boundaries.

As you army crawl across the floor looking over your shoulder to see if we are watching, I think that soon you will be taking your first timid steps.  As you look around the garage like it’s the first time you’ve been there, I think about you taking in the sights of the playground your first day at school.  And, as you giggle and play with your daddy, I think about you running across the yard with your friends. 

As I wonder about what kind of kid you are going to be, I think about what kind of mother I will be.  In wanting what’s best for you, will I push you too hard?  Will I miss your milestones and special moments because of important meetings or conference calls that run long?  Will I give in too quickly when you beg for a cell phone or to stay out late because I want you to fit in with your friends?  Will I raise you to be kind to others and to stand up when someone is unkind to you or someone you care about?  When you’re a teenager facing tough decisions and situations that are more grown up than you are, will you trust me enough to confide in me? 

This parenting thing is a heavy responsibility.  One that I didn’t realize until maybe just recently.  God has given me a precious gift in you and is trusting that I will be the mother that you deserve.  There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t worry about failing you, your father and our family.  But when the doubt stirs, in the form of frustration, feeling overwhelmed or by thinking of all the things that can go wrong; I look at your face, say a prayer and whisper a promise that I will always do what is best for you. 

We’re riding life out on a wing and a prayer, kiddo.  I wish I could say I had all the answers and I knew what was in store for us, but I simply don’t.  I don’t know what challenges we will face or what answers we will find.  But we will find them together.  That I promise you. 

I love you, baby girl.

PS.  Child, you are getting to be a handful. Remember when you used to sit still for your monthly pictures?  No?  Well, me either. 

I promise: 

• Anytime I shake up a bottle I will give it to you.  You do not have to launch into hysterics and prove to me that you have to have it right this second, because my mommy intuition has already told me that you’re hungry. 
• Rocking, walking and giving you the paci are all signs that it’s time to take a nap.  I am not about torture you and I  promise you will miss nothing while you’re snoozing.  Some day you will be 29 years old and you will want to give your right arm for a nap and you won’t be able to take one, so take advantage while you can. 
• The toys that we spent money for – the dolls, the stuffed animals, the books are all way more fun than Mommy’s cell phone, Daddy’s remote or PapPap’s hat. 
• When I leave the room to use the bathroom, I will come back.  We don’t actually need to play peek-a-boo while I pee. 

Let them be little, cause they’re only that way for a while. 
Give them hope, give them praise, give them love every day.
Let them cry, let them giggle, let them sleep in the middle,
Oh, just let them be little.
       -Lonestar

Hi Punkin,

This is probably the first monthly letter to you that I’ve struggled to write.  In the past it’s been so easy to ramble about fighting for what you want, having faith in the unknown and dreaming big.  But today?  Today I think I just want to beg you or beg God or beg Father Time to just slow down. 

You’ve changed so much.  Especially in what seems like the just the last few weeks. You’re so …  mobile.  And funny.  And stubborn.  And you’re growing hair.  You don’t sit still.  Ever.  People ask me if you sit up by yourself yet and I guess I have to say, “not quite,” but actually I think you could if you would just sit still.  But as soon as you get set up, you see something across the room or next to you that you must have, right this very second, and you go for it.  Toppling over in the process. 

Your personality is really starting to show, little one. And like your parents, I’m afraid you have a stubborn streak.  If I want you to eat 10 minutes before your bedtime bottle, you flat out refuse.  Pinching your lips so tightly together and shaking your head from side to side so that getting a bottle in your mouth is impossible.  If I want you to nap….  well…  some day we’ll talk about your napping habits.  Suffice it to say for now that you’re not so much a fan of napping (although *knock on wood* I think you’re getting a little better.)

The weather has finally started to get better and we’ve been able to take you out for walks.  Some days you like being all snug in the car seat/stroller.  Other days you want nothing to do with that but the second we strap you to Daddy’s chest in the Baby Bjorn, you’re all giggles, squeals and babbles.  I look at you, arms waving, mouth running and I think, wow.  It seems like yesterday I was walking you around this neighborhood as a newborn.  My steps were so careful because I was scared of jarring you.  Then I would bring you home and we would snuggle up on the couch together.  I miss those moments. 

Sometimes I think that I wish your life away.  I can’t wait to see your first steps or hear you say “momma”.  I want to push you on the swing and see you take your first swim in the pool.  I want to sit you at the counter and make cookies and wipe the cookie dough off of your face.  I want to hear about your school day and fight about what you’re going to wear.  But, baby girl, we have so much time for all of that.  Please don’t grow up too quickly.  I’m not ready yet. 

Mommy and Daddy love you, sweet girl.  Happy(6-month) birthday.

Promise me that you’ll give faith a fighting chance
and when you get the choice to sit it out or dance,
I hope you dance, I hope you dance

-I Hope You Dance; LeeAnn Womak

Dear Baby Girl,

It’s been five months since you entered this world and completed my life.  In five months you have learned so much and taught me even more.  In our lifetime together there will be many more lessons for us both, but today I want to talk to you about faith.  Not the kind that comes with the structure of going to church, although we will talk about that at another time.  But the kind of faith where you just sort of let go, and let life happen. 

I’ve talked to you a lot about working hard to get what you want.  I’ve preached about being determined and not giving up.  And I mean all of that.  But there’s another side of it.  Sometimes, honey, some things are just a leap of faith.  There will be some things that you can’t control, and then you have to let it go and have faith that it will work out. 

Love is leap of faith.  Trust means putting faith in someone else. Reaching for the stars means having faith that you’ll catch one.  Forgiveness means having faith that you won’t regret it.  My greatest hope for you is that you’re able to do all of these things.  Chose to throw caution to the wind and love someone with a fierceness that will scare you.  Then trust that he will have the good sense to guard your heart with care.   Go after your dreams and give it all you’ve got, even when the outcome is unsure.  And, when your feelings are hurt or someone is unkind to you, find a way to forgive and rebuild your friendship. 

There is a certain relief in giving something up to God, to knowing that it will work out – one way or another – and trusting that the final outcome will be what’s best.  It’s a hard place to get to.  And being there once doesn’t mean it will be easy the next time it feels like something is out of your control.  But when all else fails and there’s nothing left to do but hope?  Then hope, little one.  Take a deep breath, give faith a fighting chance and dance. 

I love you, sweet girl.

Listen to the mustn’ts, child. Listen to the don’ts. 
Listen to the shouldn’t, the impossibles, the won’ts. 
Listen to the never haves, then listen close to me…
Anything can happen, child.  Anything can be. 
- Shel Silverstein

Hello Baby Girl. 

Four months old today.  Four whole months.  Like every letter I write you I could marvel about how big you are or how cute.  I could go on and on about how much I love you and how the squeals and giggles that you greet me with when I walk in the door after a long day at work, make whatever annoyance or frustration I’m bringing home melt away. 

But I think instead I will talk to you about the things I want you to learn as you grow up.  And while it’s not fun to hear this and your daddy would give his left arm to prevent it, I want you to know that sometimes you will have to fight for what you want.  Whether you are learning to walk, trying out for a starting position on the basketball team or interviewing for a job.  Sometimes you will fall.  I want you to get back up. 

Get back up and try again.  Put one foot in front of the other.  Practice.  Kick. Scream. Cry.  But get back up.  You are already such a determined little girl that I have no doubt that if you dream big dreams you will achieve big things.  You will find people along the way that will tell you can’t.  There will be voices in your head that tell you to just give up; to go home.  But I want you to remember that you can do anything you set your mind to.  Stretch your imagination.  Reach for the stars. 

Your mommy and daddy will be with you every step of the way. 

I love you, sweet girl.

Dear Princess,

Good Golly! The last month has just flown by.  I’m not even sure where to start your three-month letter. 

So let’s start with I love you. I love everything about you.  The way you’re starting to get so big and so proud of yourself when you accomplish a new goal – like holding up your head (which you now do with ease) or being pulled into a sitting position or almost, but not quite rolling over.  Sometimes you don’t even know what you’re doing until those of watching you get all excited and then you give us this little half grin with a look like “yeah, I’m good.”

The last month has been a big one…  you had your Christening, we celebrated your first Christmas and we took you on your first roadtrip. You slept through the Christening, even when Uncle Father Charlie poured the water on your head. You  went on a nap strike and thus cried a lot (for you, anyway) during Christmas.  While your grandparents and family were downstairs eating, you and Mommy and Daddy were upstairs rocking, ssshhhing and bouncing.  But, you did pretty good on our trip to Washington D.C. for the bowl game.  You got to meet your cousins, including one who is only a couple days older than you.  You two were eyeing each other up – I think you trying to figure the whole thing out.  Probably by the next time you see her you’ll both be running around and we’ll be telling you to play nice and do crazy things like share your toys. 

You are really starting to be fun, baby girl.  You have a personality that shows when you stick out your lower lip if you don’t like something – giving us about a four-second window to change whatever we’re doing before your pout becomes a whine and another six seconds before that becomes a cry.  Your cries have gotten louder and are still heartbreaking, but the good news is that you laugh now too.  Ah… your laughs.  They are maybe the best thing ever.  We’re not always sure what’s going to make you grace us with a giggle, but once we find it, we don’t stop.  You giggle and we giggle and then you giggle some more. 

I love spending time with you.  I hope you know that.  I live for the weekends when I can pull you into bed with me after Daddy gets up to run and we can snuggle.  Because that moment, the one where you put your little hand on my chest or wrap your hand around mine, give a big sigh and drift off into contented sleep… that moment right there is what I live for. 

I love you sweetheart. 
Mommy