Being your momma is my greatest joy, my greatest accomplishment, my greatest love in life.

At night when I kneel by your bed & you thank God for playing outside & yellow slides & tow trucks & oatmeal, my heart beats that I am so, so thankful for you.

Love always,
Momma

Happy Mother’s Day to all the mommas out there. May your day be filled with happiness & may there be pretty cake with buttercream roses on it.

Today, you are two.

Today, you are wild & full of life & rambunctious, with this gleam in your eye that dares life to be bigger, more colorful, more wonderful.  In the past year, you have grown from cautious steps to full runs, from little squeals to belly laughs, from bottles to cups & spoons & forks.  Little friends to climb ladders with & kisses goodnight, prayers in the evening & saying “ooooh yeah!” whenever you find something you love.  Like trains & school buses & Lightening McQueen.

Today, you woke up with footed jammies & bleary eyes, hugging a stuffed monkey & giraffe.  I sang you songs in the car & we shared bagels for breakfast & tonight, you will smash cake all over your face while we laugh & snap pictures to freeze you in this wild moment of life.  We will have bath time bubbles & bedtime stories & I will hold you close, marveling at how fast the past year & two years have flown, worrying that the next year will go too quickly for my little momma heart.

I wonder where you will reach & where you will climb in the coming years as you tell me to take a deep breath & plunge head-first into life with you.  I watch you methodically piece together a puzzle or blocks & feel certain you will be an engineer.  Then you protest a bath & coerce Daddy into one more wrestling match & I think for sure, you will be a lawyer or salesman or politician.  Then you hug your momma & kiss her soundly & I know that you will be an amazing husband & father, so I think of the home you may raise with me on the fringe & my heart twists.

Some say that home is where your mom is.  I hope that you always know me as home, & always know that you have a home.  Whether it’s in four walls around a Christmas dinner or a simple “I love you” over the phone when you are grown & hurting, whether it has been five minutes or five years, you always have a home with me.

But today, you are still mine.  & I am all yours.

I love you, every piece of you.

love,
Momma

Harrison, two years old.

& raviolis.

Tucker is your best friend.

A stuffed monkey follows at a close second.

But nobody beats Daddy.

At not quite 24 lbs, you’re still in the light weight group of the 40th percentile.

But you make up for it in height by ranking in the 90th.  You come by that honestly, kid.

A Southern boy, you love sweet tea & will eagerly sip from anyone’s glass.  I know I should have some Momma Guilt over it, but it’s so darn cute.

I miss your curls.

Inquisitive & serious, you are purposeful in everything you do.

But sometimes I can tickle you into silliness.

You got your first shiner yesterday when you slipped on the porch stairs.  Honestly, I’m shocked it took you this long because you dive into life head-first.

I love that about you.

Now I’ve got someone to hold, to keep me warm when life gets cold
A little sun to melt away the grey
It happened in the nick of time, unexpected, sweet surprise
With one hello, I’ll never be the same
oh, don’t you know I love you?  I’ll never let go of you
In all of my dreams, you’re all I see
What can I do but love you?
~Joy Williams

Dear Harrison,

This entire week, I faced this day with apprehension.  Your first birthday.  A full year of Harrison.   & felt a little drop of my stomach every time I thought about you officially graduating babyhood & moving into being a little boy.  About a full year since I heard your sweet cry & a full year since I stared at your perfect pink face.  Those first moments when I looked into your blue eyes & knew that we were about to start the greatest journey together.

& my sweet, sweet boy…what a journey it has been.  It hasn’t been easy for us – but I think anything of true worth & understanding it’s value comes with a price.  & I can say with certainty, Harrison, that I fully understand just how lucky we are to have each other.   You saved me this year.  Sometimes in little ways, like revealing to me that I want to be a better person & a greater role model for you.  I laid down the snark, opened my heart, & explored the kind of mother & woman I want to be.  Sometimes, quite literally you saved me & pulled me back from the edge.  I am alive because of you.

You are the light in my life & everything that was promised.  You are so incredibly smart & gifted & funny.  Every morning, we sit down for breakfast together & I cut up banana & waffle & pour some (chocolate!) Cheerios onto your high chair.  & ever so sweetly, you pick up a Cheerio & with a toothy grin, hold it out to me.   & one day, when you are sixteen years old & storming up the stairs in anger, I will remember the days that sharing your Cheerios with me was the greatest joy in your heart.

Harrison, watching you love other people has become my proudest moment as a mother.  When you wrap your arms around your Gram’s neck & squeal, my heart absolutely melts.  The smile that lights up your face when Daddy walks in the room is tucked away in my heart & sometimes when I feel down, I close my eyes & picture those moments.  Because what I want for you most is love.   I want you to be loved, of course, but I also want you to love.  I want you to know what it’s like to feel warmth all the way from your eyes to your tummy as you pull someone in for a hug, or pass a bowl of peas at the dinner table, or kiss your wife on the alter.  I want you to know what it is like to put someone above your own sense of self, to only want the very best for them, because you love their simple existance.

Because, Harrison, that is how I love you.

& that is my greatest accomplishment as your mother.

Today, I think back on those first few moments in the hospital.  I look back upon the year with conviction that we did the best we could, you & I.  Not only did we survive, but we came out better than before.  & most importantly, I celebrate your sweet life.  Everything you have become to me & everything you will accomplish in life.  You are perfect to me.

& I love you so perfectly.

love,
Momma

Harrison, one year.

Dear Harrison,

We have officially hit that day where Momma begins counting the days with a slow burn of dread in her belly as they number down to your first birthday.  Maybe it’s preemptive & ridiculous, but I have begun looking back on your newborn photos with an ache in my heart – I hear your first innocent cries in my ears, remember the feel of you rooting on my cheek as I prepared a bottle.   I catch myself yearning for the days that when newness enveloped our entire world & everything was a discovery between us.  & then I remember that eleven months later, life is even sweeter with you as I watch you grow into your own person.

Harrison, I am so proud of you.  When I look at you, I can hardly believe that this utter perfection came from me & I simply want to shout to the world that at 27 years old, I have already achieved my greatest accomplishment.  I love to take you out & even though these days you wish to be on your own two feet walking, it fills my heart to hold your hand as you take steps.  “Mine,” my heart exudes.  “Mine!” as strangers turn to stare at you & your blonde curls.  “Mine!” as I watch you race across the field in the park, eyes bright with wonder.

& in those ending moments of the day, when we rock slowly in the dusk, I softly whisper “Mine” into your ear as you snuggle in for your last bottle of the day.  It’s twenty minutes that I crave each day, the only twenty minutes where you are still & calm & relaxed.  Where we seem to melt seamlessly into each other until you grin up at me, full & content.  I grin back at you & mirth erupts from both of us.  Giggles that bubble over in the dim nursery, like a secret that we share.

“Mine!” as tears well into my eyes.  After eleven hard, glorious, amazing months.  “Mine,” your blue eyes seem to gaze back at me, steadfast & brave as ever.

I love you forever.

love,
Momma

Harrison, 11 months.

Today you are 10 months old.  This morning, you piped up a little too early for my taste, but in all honesty, I was ready to start the day the moment I saw your face peering over the rails of the crib.  We made a quick run to the grocery store & when you grinned & shouted “NANA!” at the bananas, I knew there has never been a smarter child than you.  Right now, you’re sitting on the floor with Daddy, pretending to make phone calls on your toy phone & the sight of it simply warms me through my soul.  Harrison, I feel like I’m finally understanding the sweetness of motherhood, the inexplicable overflowing of love, & it’s all because of you.  It’s because of these small moments where I watch you crawl over Daddy, blowing raspberries & giggling.  It’s because of your growing vocabulary, shouting out “CRACKER!” at lunch.  & because of the end of the day, when you’re curled up in my arms & we rock slowly, even though your legs now drape over mine & off the chair.

Harrison, you’re growing up too fast & I’m pretty sure that I’m going to blink & you’ll be changing my diapers in a nursing home after I’ve become the crazy cat lady.  Time is simply flying by too quickly & you’re turning into a little, independent boy in front of my eyes.

A week ago when I returned from my trip, you looked at me, grinned, & let go of Daddy’s hands.  YOU LET GO, Harrison.  & took about ten precious, tiny, sure steps in my direction.  In that moment, I don’t know who felt more pride – me or you.  Your face looked like Christmas morning as you toddled towards me, arms outstretched.  Like everything good & whole & perfect in this world.  & I burst into tears from the magic of it all.

Harrison, I hope you always chase after your goals & dreams with the same tenacity that you’ve grasped walking.  Take a deep breath, a quick prayer, & LET GO.  Let go & step forward.  Let go & be sure in your way.  Let go & achieve.

& you’ll never go wrong.

I love you forever.

Love,

Momma

Harrison, 10 months.

This is typically the place where I should say something cliche & cheesy like, “Oh, you’ve been out as long as you’ve been in!” but we all know that would be a lie.  BECAUSE YOU TOOK FOREVER TO COOK, KID.  & you don’t get to hold that honor of even baking on both sides of the uterus until a few weeks from now.  But still, when I say “nine months,” I literally have to suck in my breath & will myself to breathe that yes, the past nine months have occurred.  All the wonderful & trying…it all occurred because of you.  & I cannot believe that it has been a full nine months since I first held you & listened to your first cry.

I also cannot believe it is only three months until your first birthday.

But I can’t think about that or else I will cry.

In nine short months, you have come so far.  On that first day, I wondered who you would be, what you would do, & how we would survive.  (& believe it or not, we have survived!)  You are sweet.  You are strong.  You are independent, rarely up for a good snuggle, & always on the move.  You took steps by nine months, but still grin with a gummy, tooth-less smile.  You love bananas & chocolate Cheerios & above all, oatmeal.  You talk.  Loudly.  You laugh.  Even louder, & like your momma.  You chase balls around the room, pushing them away & the crawling with lightening speed.  Like baby soccer.  & I’m so tempted to pull out my vuvuzela just to sound to the world HOW FREAKIN’ AWESOME you are.  Because baby, you are REALLY FREAKIN’ AWESOME.  & I’m so thankful that I can say that with such resounding truth in my own heart, to claim you as mine, & mean it down to my toes that I don’t care how long it took us to get here.

& tonight, when we rocked with my nose on your cheek, inhaling your sweet baby scent, I closed my eyes & simply breathed in the smell & sounds of the rocking chair & bottle & felt morphed back nine months.  To a hospital room with a hot little bundle, to a tiny bottle & sweet sucking noises with tiny fingers wrapped around my pinky.  It’s not so different these days, when I simply close my eyes.

I love you always.

Love,

Momma

Harrison, 9 months.

Dear Harrison,

Three-fourths two thirds of a year have flown by & I can barely believe it.  They say that time speeds up as you grow older & believe me, IT DOES.  One moment, you’re sixteen & in the car with your best friends on the way to Bojangles & the leaves are falling & the sun is shining & you’re thinking, it doesn’t get better than this, & the next thing you know, a decade later you’re writing a letter to your very own baby about how he stood on his own for the first time yesterday.

Harrison…YOU STOOD ON YOUR OWN.  Pulled up holding onto my fingers, which is your favorite game & instead of sitting back down with a chuckle, YOU LET GO.  As if to say, “Momma, I got this.”  You let go for two seconds.  Stood on wobbly legs.  & then fell on your butt with a grin.

Ch-ch-ch-changes, they are a-coming.

But Harry, those changes are good.  & I’m so excited for you when I think of all the things you are learning & accomplishing these days.  Your daddy often marvels that every single day is different & therefore, he doesn’t want to miss one beat.  You’re feeding yourself crackers & puffs, pulling up on everything, & it seems that every day you have a new consonant that you talk back to us with.  “Ya ya ya” you said this morning, a precursor to all the eye-rolls & “yeah, yeah, yeah, WHATEV MOM” ‘s that are in our future.

Harrison, I’ve thought a lot about change today – changes in you, changes in me, changes in our life.  There are a ton going on right now but for the first time, I feel like they are all good, positive changes in our life.  & although they are a result of things going haywire in the past, these changes feel so good for our family.  I want you to always know & be strong enough to recognize when change needs to happen, & be brave enough to embrace it.  Own up to it.  & then celebrate in it.  Whether it’s standing on your own, getting back to your basics as a person, or watching a tomato turn red in your garden as summer unfolds.  Embrace change.

For you are changing, growing, & turning into a little person that I am so proud to call “mine.”  I hope that you will one day be proud to call me yours.

& no matter what changes, my love for you will never end.

love,
Momma

Harrison, 8 months.

I struggle to begin this letter because all I want it to say is “I love you.  & everything I do, I do it for you.”  But a) that’s too cheesy & b) I’m pretty sure Bryan Adams would take issue on a copyright rampage.  Harrison, sometimes it breaks my heart knowing how much of your life I have already missed, thanks to PPD, work, & hospitilization.  I feel an overwhelming sense of grief & anger at how fast the time flies, but then I look down at your sweet face & know how steadfast & resilient you are (just like your Daddy) & I know that everything will be okay.

Baby, I know I’ve told you this before, but what has happened to me is NOT YOUR FAULT.  I will tell you all about it one day, or you may read this, but know that while the past week has been hard on your little heart that’s only been beating a little over a year, I did this out of love, keeping my promise that I will do anything to keep you safe, happy, & to have a mother that can give you 150% of her being.

Because, Harry, I love you.  & everything I do, I do it for you.

Love,

Momma

Harrison, 7 months.

all the ups & downs & all the in-between
it’s not perfect but it’s everything i dreamed of
~joy williams

Dear Harrison,

Six months.  Half a year.  Where has the time flown?  & if it flew by this quickly, then I might as well pull out the banners because it feels like tomorrow will be your first birthday.   It sounds so cliche, but I truly cannot believe it has been six months since we first came shattering into each other’s lives.  Some days when I’m rocking you at night, because you have just learned the loveliness that is rocking, I imagine you are fresh home from the hospital as I close my eyes & sniff behind your ear to inhale that baby scent.  But then I realize that you’re legs are already draping down into my lap, your hand is curled around the back of my neck, & while you are still my little boy, you simply are not a fresh newborn anymore.

Which is a relatively new occurrence.  Two weeks ago, you still laid around like an adorable lump with a dimpled smile that cooed occasionally & barfed a lot.  Then on March 27, you sat up independently for the first time & BAM! you became this little man that could wear button-down shirts & is off to Harvard Law like, next week.  Sitting up opened your entire world & this incredible personality flooded out of this tiny, 16-lb body.  Harrison, you are such a sweet little man.  In some ways, it is hard for Momma to say that after all we’ve been through together, but you turning into such a sweet, content boy.  Your face lights up when you see those in your “Circle of Trust,” but you are quick to side-eye anyone you do not recognize.  “Who the hell are you & did I give you permission to exist?” your intense gaze seems to question them.

(Daddy & I are very proud of this particular feature as we believe it makes you a kindred spirit to Stewie Griffen of Family Guy.)

Harrison, my new favorite discovery of you is how FUNNY you are.  Your laughter is absolutely infectious – a deep belly laugh from the soul, mixed with peals of delight.  Every night before bath time, we play our favorite game – I hold you while Daddy sneaks up & tickles your side.  You shriek with joy, giggle, & then throw your arms around my neck as if to playfully say, “Save me, Momma!”

But Harrison…YOU are the one that saves me.   Weekly.  Daily.  Hourly.  On my good days, you are my motivation to succeed at everything I do at work, home, & in my marriage.  On the bad days, you give me reason to survive until the next good day.  Until the next day that your smile will fill my heart with warmth & you squeal for me, knowing that in that moment, I’ll be ready to “save” you.

Have the past six months been perfect?  Absolutely not.  Has it been a classic fairytale of mother & baby?  No.  But it’s our fairytale, Harrison.  & you will always be my little knight in shining armor that saved me.

I love you, for the next six months and the next six hundred years.

Love,
Momma

Harrison, 6 months.