Katie. Kate.
You're ONE today!
You're ONE today!
Everyone comments on how observantly you take in the world. Your wondrously wide, blue eyes are instinctively drawn to people. You stare at others, quiet and still. If a stranger approaches, you cast your blue eyes downward, your dark eyelashes flutter, and you tuck your head into my arm. Your bashfulness is endearing-- but for your sake, I hope you outgrow it. I know how painful it feels to be shy.
I'm trying not to use the word "shy". I prefer to describe you as "discriminating". You are especially discriminating of beards--you don't like them. You make your discomfort known by wailing loudly. I whisk you away from those scary, bearded men. But now your Pop is growing a beard, so I wonder if you might begin to tolerate them?
I'm trying not to use the word "shy". I prefer to describe you as "discriminating". You are especially discriminating of beards--you don't like them. You make your discomfort known by wailing loudly. I whisk you away from those scary, bearded men. But now your Pop is growing a beard, so I wonder if you might begin to tolerate them?
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| Dad says this expression is when "Anger Flows Through You" |
One area in which you are not as discriminating is with food flavors and textures. Shepherd's Pie and cheddar cheese are two of your favorites, but you will happily eat any number of foods we place before you: mango salsa, tuna salad, spaghetti sauce, clams, yogurt. Yes! I think, I'm doing something right! Then I watch as you rake the floor for a tuft of Garfunkel's fur, stuff it in your mouth, grimace slightly, and start to chew. You will put anything into your mouth! At any rate, I hope your willingness to try new flavors continues, because I don't worry one bit about your weight gain. The days when I obsessed about every ounce you gained as a newborn are a distant memory.
Katie, those thighs! Those glorious, chubby, roly-poly, cottage cheese thighs! I could write epic poems to them, they fill me with such pride. Why on earth we celebrate chubbiness in babies and vilify it in adults is beyond me. I just want to squeeze them. And you. You're very squeezable and precious.
As timid as you are around people, you are BOLD with the family cat, Garfunkel. He has scratched and clawed you many times, but still, you reach out for more. More of his soft, long-haired, black and white fur. You gesture animatedly and twirl your hands and feet excitedly when he enters the room. (We call this "twinkling" your toes.) You make little high-pitched squeals. And you are pretty gentle when you pet him. That old cantankerous, spoiled and adored cat. (My first baby).
Katie, how will you feel about sharing your birthday with me? I didn't like sharing mine with my Dad and brother, who were born the day before, July 31st. Always lumped together for family celebrations, the three of us. (And friend parties only once in FIVE years! Which, as it turned out, only happened for me once, as a five year old. Such deprivation, I realize, can only be registered on a first-world scale. ) I hope to do many things differently for you, and your brother. Not sure how to go about celebrating our mutual birthday, and I imagine it will change over time. Right now, it's a fantastic excuse for me to have a few local friends over, put a tiara on your head, bake some mini-cupcakes, and serve Sangria. Babies' first birthdays have always been more about the parents: celebrating the baby's survival of that first year (seriously--how many falls have you lived through?), and honoring the parents' transition to motherhood and fatherhood.
Yes, we've traveled this road before. But in many ways we've started all over again. It was almost seven years between you and Andy, for one. And also, you're a GIRL. As much as gender shouldn't matter, it does. Raising a daughter is terrifying, exhilarating, and a total blessing. It's an opportunity to hold a mirror to myself, and to set an example for you in all the ways that matter. Body image. Confidence. Career and family life balance. Curiosity. Optimism. Resilience. Determination. Courage. Making a difference in this troubled, lovely world.
Kate, I have a long way to go to become the woman I want to be. I am grateful to you for the motivation to pursue my own dreams. I think it took me this long to have you because I wasn't ready before.
In honor of your 1st and my 37th birthdays, here's part of a poem by Patricia Lynn Reilly, author of Imagine a Woman in Love with Herself:
"Imagine a woman who believes it is right and good she is woman.
A woman who honors her experience and tells her stories.
Who refuses to carry the sins of others within her body and life.
Imagine a woman who has acknowledged the past's influence
on the present.
A woman who has walked through her past.
Who has healed into the present.
Imagine a woman in love with her own body.
A woman who believes her body is enough, just as it is.
Who celebrates her body's rhythms and cycles as an exquisite resource."
Thank you for being you, Katie. I can't wait to see how you grow and change, and I'm thrilled to share the journey with you.
Love,
Barbara, Barb, Mom
As timid as you are around people, you are BOLD with the family cat, Garfunkel. He has scratched and clawed you many times, but still, you reach out for more. More of his soft, long-haired, black and white fur. You gesture animatedly and twirl your hands and feet excitedly when he enters the room. (We call this "twinkling" your toes.) You make little high-pitched squeals. And you are pretty gentle when you pet him. That old cantankerous, spoiled and adored cat. (My first baby).
Katie, how will you feel about sharing your birthday with me? I didn't like sharing mine with my Dad and brother, who were born the day before, July 31st. Always lumped together for family celebrations, the three of us. (And friend parties only once in FIVE years! Which, as it turned out, only happened for me once, as a five year old. Such deprivation, I realize, can only be registered on a first-world scale. ) I hope to do many things differently for you, and your brother. Not sure how to go about celebrating our mutual birthday, and I imagine it will change over time. Right now, it's a fantastic excuse for me to have a few local friends over, put a tiara on your head, bake some mini-cupcakes, and serve Sangria. Babies' first birthdays have always been more about the parents: celebrating the baby's survival of that first year (seriously--how many falls have you lived through?), and honoring the parents' transition to motherhood and fatherhood.
 |
| Brother and Sister in Yosemite |
Yes, we've traveled this road before. But in many ways we've started all over again. It was almost seven years between you and Andy, for one. And also, you're a GIRL. As much as gender shouldn't matter, it does. Raising a daughter is terrifying, exhilarating, and a total blessing. It's an opportunity to hold a mirror to myself, and to set an example for you in all the ways that matter. Body image. Confidence. Career and family life balance. Curiosity. Optimism. Resilience. Determination. Courage. Making a difference in this troubled, lovely world.
Kate, I have a long way to go to become the woman I want to be. I am grateful to you for the motivation to pursue my own dreams. I think it took me this long to have you because I wasn't ready before.
In honor of your 1st and my 37th birthdays, here's part of a poem by Patricia Lynn Reilly, author of Imagine a Woman in Love with Herself:
"Imagine a woman who believes it is right and good she is woman.
A woman who honors her experience and tells her stories.
Who refuses to carry the sins of others within her body and life.
Imagine a woman who has acknowledged the past's influence
on the present.
A woman who has walked through her past.
Who has healed into the present.
Imagine a woman in love with her own body.
A woman who believes her body is enough, just as it is.
Who celebrates her body's rhythms and cycles as an exquisite resource."
Thank you for being you, Katie. I can't wait to see how you grow and change, and I'm thrilled to share the journey with you.
Love,
Barbara, Barb, Mom
