Last year, on this day, we found out we were going to have a baby.  Well, in truth, I already knew (the way you just know), but there was the whole peeing-on-a-stick part.

Anyway, it was kind of poetic to find out I was going to be a Mom on a day to celebrate that.

So, here we are a year later, and we have a four month old.  It will never cease to amaze me how much can change in the space of one year.  365 days ago, we were giddy with our news, stealing knowing looks at each other as we celebrated Mother’s Day with our own Moms, knowing we were about to make them grandmothers.  I remember wondering what it would feel like to be a Mom on Mother’s Day.  I thought I wouldn’t care about the day, but I find myself really looking forward to it and placing possibly far too much importance on it for some reason.

My dreams for what being a Mom would be like were vast and varied.  I had a lot of opinions and plans and more than anything, hopes.  Much of that has been challenged, changed and also fulfilled in the last four months.  But most of all I’ve gained respect.  Respect for this job, for this role, for the price, for the honor.  It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

Mom, I have always appreciated everything you’ve done for me in my life, and I’ve often thought about what a tremendous job it was.  But now I know.  As much as an admittedly green, Mom-of-four-months can know.  But still, that knowledge is light years away from what I knew a year ago.  And so now on this Mother’s Day, I have such tremendous respect for what you took on and did in being my Mom.  Because I’ve had a glimpse of what it will take to duplicate that for my own child.  It’s an unexplainable thing really, and I’m stumbling looking for the words.

When I am with Sloane, I wonder often if this is what it was like when it was just us, and I was your baby.   If you felt these things, dreamed this big or worried this much.  I smile, because I’ve never been prouder to walk in your footsteps.  And seeing you smiling, holding my child – the circle feels complete.

Happy Mother’s Day!

Sloane Isabella
Wednesday, January 11th
12:08 am
8 lbs 3 oz.
21 inches

Last Wednesday a little bundle of squeaky-toy cries, gummy smiles and the sweetest little expressions exploded into our lives.  She came in her own way, on her own time, and flipped our lives sideways in the meantime.

We’ve been learning all of her quirks and facets – how she can hold up her head already and look around, the little fringe of hair over her collar, her one-eyed peek when she isn’t sure she wants to be awake yet, the dimple in her chin, and her way of gesturing and “talking”, just like her Daddy:

We’ve had a busy five days since her birth, with lots of visitors.  She even got to meet one of her Great-Grandmas already.

In this new sideways world I often pinch myself as I realize scenes like this are now normal:

For those who are wondering, Ringo is adjusting very well.  He is certainly feeling a bit neglected, but he really seems to love Sloane, and is very attentive to her.

Hubby and I are truly struggling to find the words to describe how life has changed for us.  No matter how prepared we tried to be, you can’t really understand how it will feel, what will change, what you will accept and what you will struggle with; until it happens.  And even then, we are still at a loss for words.

We were fortunate enough to have our good friend (and our own wedding photographer) Heather Cook Elliott there to document Sloane’s birth story.  We will have a blog post coming soon with her images and more of the story.   Until then, back to babyland….

I was meeting with a new client couple recently and they said, rather enthusiastically, “those pictures of the anticipation of the day – those are our favorites!”.  I was shocked, because….me too!  So often those moments are my favorites of a wedding day.  It’s a sweet and overlooked time – most are focused on the point of the day – getting married.  But in those preparation hours are some of the sweetest expressions, feelings and minutes.

I feel the same about life’s other big moments.  Like where Hubby and I are at right now.  These last moments of pregnancy are the sweetest time.  We will never, ever again be just a couple waiting for our first child to arrive.  We will never be this naive, this expectant, this excited.  Sure, children still to come will cause much of the same anticipation, but it will never be quite like this first time.

Right now there are only possibilities.  Wonderment.  Speculation.

Will she look like me or him?  Will she be stubborn or easy-going?  What will her cry sound like?  Will Ringo like her?  When will she arrive?  What name will we choose for her?

Of course there are fears and worries too.

Will we be able to figure it all out?  How will we ever raise a proper little lady?  Who will watch her when we both have to work?  How will her presence change our marriage?  Will we miss being just us, or will we never look back?

But even those more worrisome thoughts are somehow sweet right now.

This is why when people say to me “oh, you must be so anxious to get your pregnancy over with!”, I shake my head no and smile.  I’m not itching to be done.  I’m savoring it.  It could all end any moment, and I won’t have the joy of feeling her kick or roll, the surprise of her weight as I turn over at night, or the wonderment of a growing belly anymore.  These are all things I love, among many other things about being pregnant.  I’m grateful for this child, not annoyed by it.  I’m going to be sad to loose those things, though I’m sure they will be replaced by many other joys.  But still – this time of preparation is unique and won’t be repeated.

So for today, I’m rubbing that little foot that just poked out on my belly and smiling.  Soon enough we’ll have answers to so many of these questions.  I’ve got my eye on the goal of all of this, sure.  But in the meantime, I’m quite content to look around and soak it all in.

For now, there is only sweet anticipation.

I lost someone special to me this weekend.  I don’t usually blog about these things, and in fact, others have passed away and I haven’t mentioned them on here, but it seems trite to do a Miscellaneous Monday post today and ignore the one thing most present in my mind right now.  So bear with me as I use the blog for a little personal therapy today.

Yesterday morning, my Uncle Tom passed away.  He wasn’t just my Uncle, he was also my Godfather.  Not in the way that one is a godparent listed on a long-forgotten piece of paper, but in the way that he was a special presence in my life.  I spent half of my childhood growing up across the street from him and my aunt.  He took his role in my life seriously (something he did with everyone), and he was another father figure to me, a mentor, a friend, and most of all, an example.

He raised two children that weren’t technically his own (step-children), though you would have never known that unless someone told you. He served our country as a soldier, and as a sheriff.  He fought for good and right everyday and had an unwavering ethical compass.  He advised me on my life, checked in on me, made sure I knew he cared.  He was fun and full of energy.  He played Santa Claus when we were kids.  He helped me with my math homework.  He protected me from the bad guys.  He taught me to never take myself too seriously.  He loved his family, adored his wife, cared for his parents.  He was stubborn and bull-headed. He had super-sonic hearing and you couldn’t get anything past him.  He had an amazing wit, and a biting sense of humor.

Seven years ago, he had a stroke.  It stole from him his ability to move around, to talk normally, to be who he had been.  And yet his spirit persisted.  Through all that followed, the strokes, the illnesses, the set-backs, he fought on and showed us all that life was more than the external.  Somehow, in a state where he was dependent on others for nearly everything, he persisted in demonstrating how to live life in service and care for others.

He was excited about baby girl, and I’m heartbroken he won’t get to meet her.  And more so, that she won’t know him.

I know that in time my appreciation for him and his presence will deepen, and life will move on.  And he would want that.  But for now, there is just a hole where he should be.