Monthly Archives: May 2013

Seven Months.

Seven months.  Where did those seven months go?

My sweet, sweet boy.  You grow and change so quickly that I am having a hard time keeping up.  I wake each morning to new sights and sounds – hair that has filled in, arms and legs that are longer and reaching further, eyes that seem wider and brighter and a smile that now houses two perfect tiny teeth within.

I’m not sure when or how it happened, but my little baby has turned into a little boy.  You have the ability to read expressions on our faces and mimic them which completely blows me away.  You have such a cheeky, innocent and yet mischievous nature that it makes me both excited and terrified for our years to come.  Your giggle is infectious, your hugs warm and welcoming, and your heart so full of love that I am smitten.

I spent many nights rocking you in your room, tears streaming down my face – trying to decide what the best thing to do for you was.  We were struggling with nursing and reflux and so many different opinions and diagnoses that each day held such physical and emotional turmoil.  But there I sat, and rocked, and held you in my arms and sang the same song to you – over and over.  Because I felt every word and wanted you to know – always – that my pain was never because of you.

you are my sunshine,

my only sunshine.

you make me happy,

when skies are grey.

you’ll never know dear,

how much i love you.

please don’t take

my harper finn away.

I stopped singing that song to you a little while ago when we were trying to develop a strong sleep routine and nourish healthy sleep hygiene with you.  I created what we now call the slumber song and have worked that into your nap and night time sleep routine in it’s place.

The other night, I stopped singing the slumber song and instead started singing You Are My Sunshine while I held and nursed you.  You looked up at me, paused your nursing for a moment, and smiled – a wide, accepting and almost relieved grin.  I continued to sing, realizing you were acknowledging the moment, the words and the melody and you returned to nursing – smiling and cuddling and almost cooing with delight to hear it again.  You reached up and stroked my cheek and in your own precious way let me know that ‘you’ knew.

You remind me daily that you are so much more than you appear.

Seven months have passed in a moment – a haze of exhaustion and fear.  A blur of a new mother’s apprehension and uncertainty.  As much as I enjoy seeing you grow and learn and catch glimpses into the person you will soon become, I yearn for things to slow down.  I am trying to remind myself to enjoy you here, now … in this current moment.  Because once it’s gone it won’t be back again and you have so much to offer us already.

I love you, my precious little peanut.  I will keep singing that song to you – keep telling you how much you mean to me despite any turmoil we endure.  Because it is worth it – it will always be worth it.

Seven months behind us but with so many more to come.





Mother’s Day.

Today is Mother’s Day and I must admit to feeling awkward and disjointed at the thought of being celebrated, rather than being the one celebrating.

I never really saw myself having children – a child to call my own, to nurture and protect and raise into an independent member of society.  I was comfortable with the idea of a family of three – husband, wife, dog.

Of course, something changed.

You are here now and even though the words are often said by many other Mother’s and many more to come … I simply cannot imagine my life without you in it.  You have made the sum so much bigger and brighter than it’s parts and for that I will forever be grateful.

And so while the weather is not cooperating for us today (snow?) and while I am weighed down with exhaustion and fatigue, I look to you and smile to know that you have and will continue to make things better.  You are my tomorrow – my brighter day, my hope and promise of so many inspiring moments to come.

I will be the one celebrating, not being celebrated – despite what this day calls for.

You are worth such joy.





Disjointed and Raw.

I know I’ve failed you.

I know the words were there early on but I couldn’t pull deep down and bring them to the surface.  I was sinking – trying to tread water and each day brought it’s own new challenges.

Six months you’ve been a part of my world now – this world that I was so completely unprepared for.

I know I should have talked and dreamt and tried to bond more with you.  I know that I should have read to you, sang to you, shared and confided in you.  Instead I was too focused on the practical aspects of bringing you into our world.  I was too sick and too detached to think about creating, nurturing and fostering our relationship.

You were inside me, attached to me, connected to me.  In every fibre, every thread of the textile of who I am, you were there.

But I took it all for granted.

Almost every night I lay awake in bed when I should be sleeping.  I think back on our time together before you came into the physical world and truly created this little family of ours, and I am disappointed in myself.  I didn’t realize the gift that was given to us.  Even through the sickness I should have been able to recognize the beauty, the fortune, the hope and promise that was building more with each passing day.

We have had our struggles. I have shed many tears of doubt, of worry, of frustration and of guilt.  I was beyond afraid that this would be our legacy – that I would continue to walk around in a haze of uncertainty and regret and despair.  Before having you I read that Mothers can take weeks to grow to feel this – this weight in their chest and pain in their heart.  This all consuming, undeniable, terrifyingly forceful love.

It might have taken longer for us, but it is finally here.

I would accept the illness and the doubt and the worry to be here with you.  I would accept the physical pain, the struggles, the uncertainty and the fear all over again in an instant, if it means being in this place. To feel my heart bend and bleed with it’s overwhelming love for you. This moment in time is challenging in it’s newness, yes, but it is all I have ever wanted.  I just didn’t understand that until now.

I will move mountains for you, Harper.

Anything you will ever need you will find in me.  Always.