letters to caleb.

Dear Caleb

On June 18, 2009 my whole world was flipped upside down. I found out I was pregnant with you, but had to keep my lips sealed until your dad came home from work. My head spun, my heart raced and I didn't know how to define or contain the emotions that were welling up inside of me. So I sat down, took a few breaths, and I wrote you a letter:

Dear Baby, I can’t even believe I’m writing to you. I can’t believe there is a you. I saw two pink lines and I think my heart sank straight to the floor.

And that began nine months of anticipation, worries, surprises and joy. I told you all about it through letters.

Only a handful of people know about you. Those lucky people. I prayed this morning on my way to work that God would please please protect you and let me hold a safe and healthy you in nine months.

I remember those first few weeks when I couldn't even believe you were real.

I can’t wait for my doctor's appointment. I want someone else besides me to confirm you exist and that you are living inside me.

I remember my 31st b-day when I felt so blessed:

Yesterday was my birthday. I am 31 years old and I feel old. But I am also the happiest ever. Three years ago I married your dad and it was the best thing I've ever done. Now, we have you and it feels like life suddenly magnified by 200 percent. The joy is more than I had ever expected. The anticipation is at times so great that it's maddening. The fear is intense as I realize how much I have to lose. But, let me get back to the joy. It was the best birthday I've ever had because it was the first that I got to spend with my entire family. And it only became "entire" when we found out about little you.

You were changing me from the inside out.

You are bringing new feelings and sensations into my life. Yesterday I told a friend that I felt like the first woman who has ever been pregnant. I feel like it's impossible that this happens to people every day and I'm just learning about it. It is so miraculous. Every single fiber of you is being formed. And you rely on me, too, which makes me feel like I have a whole new purpose. I love it.

I remember people telling me I'd be "home-free" when I entered my second semester.

So time moves forward as I await the second trimester - when you are supposedly going to be safe. I doubt I will feel any different in the second trimester than I do now. I will probably feel exactly this way til you are old and gray. I'll always be pinching myself at the miracle of you, always thinking about you during many moments of my day, and always hoping you are safe, strong and happy.

Then, I saw you on the big screen.

. . . the doctor took us in the other room to do an ultrasound. You were dancing around, kicking your little feet, moving your little hands, swimming around in amniotic fluid. I couldn't believe my eyes. You looked like an actual baby. I looked at my stomach then looked at the monitor, trying to understand how a human could possibly be in there. It's such a miracle and honor and responsibility like I've never known. And I know this is only the beginning. The doctor called you crazy legs. I'm starting to think that maybe you're a boy.

I could barely stand the suspense on the day we found out if you were a boy or girl:

Tomorrow is the big day. Tomorrow we are finding out if you are a girl or a boy. I am trying to soak it all in. There is something sweet and special about not knowing your gender. To me now, you are just "baby." You are just a miracle, a blessing perfectly timed, a life changing addition to our lives. Tomorrow we may have more specific hopes and dreams for you. We may have a name for you. We may start thinking of you differently, perhaps more as a person than a concept or idea. Your gender changes nothing, yet it changes most everything. Not our love, not our gratitude. But definitely our perspective, definitely our direction, definitely the focus of our prayers. I don't really even fully know what I mean by all of this, I just know in my heart when I discover what you are, it's going to add another layer of wonderfulness to this whole journey.

Then, we heard the surprising news that you were a GIRL! I wrote about how we opened a card at the beach in Edmonds and read the words, "Congratulations, it's a girl."

Now, here comes the honest part. I paused for a few moments and said out loud, "Do we want a girl?" Your dad gave me a look and I quickly assured him that I was just kidding.

And then we found out a week later that you were actually a BOY. We had to return a lot of pink stuff, but I have to say ... it just seemed perfect. You were a boy. And we had to think of a name that would replace Lucy:

Dear Caleb,

Can I call you Caleb? Indulge me as I try it out. It's what we've been calling you for the last several weeks. I think that it just may stick.

I remember as the months of pregnancy rolled on, my fears began to fade as my faith increased:

I have no idea what will happen with us or what will happen with you. I know my prayer and I know that God is good. I know that He loves you perfectly and has great plans for you. We have a great responsibility as your parents, but He is the one who is in control of your life. Nothing can happen to you that he doesn't already know about and nothing will ever separate you from His love. When I think of this, it seems silly to be scared anymore.

As I saw the finish line come close to me, I began to realize some things.

It's so strange to think that at any moment, I could have a baby in my arms, in my home, with me every single day. I don't know if I even realize how much my life is going to change. I know I don't realize it. I am so anxious for you to get here, but at the same time, I need to really think about everything that will be different. I need to really appreciate the life I have right now . . . with just me and your dad because this time together is precious. We will never again be able to be so simple, so spontaneous, so free to go places and see people and do whatever we want. I have loved it. I love the freedom and fun we have as a couple ... and I know some of that is about to change.

And then. The night before I met you, I said this:

Caleb, tomorrow I will be able to see you and feel you and hear you and breathe you in after all this time waiting. I can't wait to see your face. I have no idea what you will look like. But just the thought gives me chills and butterflies and all sorts of wonderful feelings. I don't know what labor will be like. But I'm too happy to be scared. This is going to be the beginning of your time out in the world with us.

I want your life to be full of faith, joy and purpose. I want you to love passionately and live serving God and others. I want you to know that I loved you from the very beginning and you have completely changed me. I will live my life trying to be the very best for you. You have already been the very best for me. I couldn't be happier.

I'll see you soon, little man.

You were born. And many letters have been written since then. Our struggles, our stories, our everything.

We are about to mark a year of your life. I have loved going back to these days when I didn't know your chubby cheeks or your sweet lips or your harmonious laugh or the warmth of your head on my shoulder. I didn't know any of this and I was still madly in love.

You were always ours, Caleb B. I love you today, but it is so true ... I loved you then.

I remember.

Love,

Mom

eleven months.

Dear Caleb,

I've probably seen the biggest change in you this past month. It's been huge . . .

You went from being a crawler to a full on explorer. You go into every room of our house and check out every square inch. You pull yourself up, pull things down, open and close anything that can be opened or closed, and are unfortunately attracted to all things breakable. It’s so entertaining to see you navigate your way around the house. It’s like your own personal obstacle course.

You are determined. This is my nice way of saying you don’t listen well to the word, “no.” But there is just something about that look on your face when you see an opening and know you can get to something that you’re not supposed to touch. You go for it. And even when you get caught, you look like you had so much fun trying. You have that mischievous grin. I won't lie ... it exasperates me, but sometimes (sometimes) I'm smiling on the inside.

You are a thinker. I love seeing the wheels in your head turn. When I ask “Where’s dad?” you look down the hallway knowing right where he is. When you climb up onto something, you are already thinking about how you will get down and you do so carefully and meticulously. You recognize words and phrases and people even better than before. And you have that serious look when anything new or interesting is happening.

You are adventurous. You love when you flip you upside down. You love to climb up onto our headboard and fall backwards in a mound of soft pillows. You love being on dad’s shoulder when he runs. You love climbing onto your toy house and shaking it like King Kong. You love being in the water and doing the back float. You love challenging yourself to see if you can do things on your own.

And some things remain the same. You still don’t like getting changed. You still get in those moods when you don’t want us to put you down for even a second. You still are a loud talker and like to scream for no reason. You still wake up every morning, with that sweet tired smile and make us grateful for another day.

I can see how 11 months can be a milestone that is overlooked because we are so close to that big YEAR birthday. But I will always remember 11 months because I think this is really the start of you being a little boy rather than a little baby. And, wow, even writing that makes me teary. It is such a strange feeling to miss you being a baby but love who you are now so much and also look forward to the years ahead watching you grow and change. I guess it just comes down to the fact that I’m blessed. I’m blessed to get to be a part of your life. I’m blessed because no matter what age, you’ll always be my sweet baby.

We are only a few weeks from celebrating a year of you in our lives and I can hardly stand it. It feels like my heart might burst. You will never know how happy you’ve made me. I know I’ll try to explain it to you several times in your life, but just know … you’ll never truly know. Because I could never put this kind of love into words. There are no words.

Love, Mom

memory lane.

i just found this. i wrote it when i was 36 weeks pregnant. and it was like a trip down memory lane . . .

things you realize at 36 weeks

i can survive on almost no sleep.

i'm not self-conscious about smiling though my face has doubled in size

i am in awe that people get pregnant and give birth every day. i never realized what a miracle it is.

i think dads are secretly jealous that moms get to feel and experience all that they do in pregnancy.

i love having a belly that moves throughout the day.

i've been missing out by not having desserts. chocolate, ice cream and cake . . .where have you been all my life?

when you are tired and puffy, it is so nice when your husband tells you that you're pretty. that's true love.

every pregnant lady should have a dedicated foot massager.

i can live without wine and still be really happy.

i never gave my parents enough credit.

nine months seemed like a long time in the beginning, but i get it now. it's needed.

life with just you and your husband is simple and wonderful.

there are too many baby products in the world and i wonder how parents with no money do it.

i still cannot distinguish between the front and the back of a diaper.

it was unwise to finish decorating our nursery in the ninth month.

pregnancy pictures don't have to be torture and are totally worth it.

i look like my mom when i laugh.

aunties and uncles are necessary.

i won't be perfect enough for this baby and that's okay. i am so thankful for grace.

day one.

we love you dad.

you make us proud.

christmas catch up.

oh yeah, it's almost february.

i know i've dropped the ball with posting christmas pictures. actually, i think i dropped the ball with taking christmas pictures. i was too busy enjoying our wonderful family in spokane. as always, they made everything perfect and helped to make caleb's first christmas one he will never forget.

well, actually he will forget it. so i'll just have to be sure to remind him of his first ever flight. and how his mama was nauseous and then we boarded the plane and he was so happy and excited and loved flying. he really helped me to relax and enjoy it, too. so did the wine.




i'll be sure to tell him about his very first christmas eve service where we all lit candles together as a family. and how sweet norah and caden were ... how they always wanted to play with him and cheer him up when he was cranky. and i'll tell him about the first time he saw the train go around the christmas tree and how we opened presents on christmas eve and left out cookies for santa. and how he harassed mikey, his favorite dog.





i'll describe the fun he had ripping open presents but how he especially loved playing with his little piece of cardboard. we have already begun collecting cardboard for next year because that's all he's getting. i'll tell him how spoiled we all were to get such thoughtful gifts, such quality time with people we really love, and eat amazingly delicious meals. we got to see the logans, aunt delma and the tuckers and got to play catch phrase, too (no dots on our heads this time, though).





and the snow!




and he probably wont be surprised to hear that i was ecstatic to get to visit my favorite store ever.

and we missed our family back home, but were over the moon to learn that joekat's twinsies are BOYS! this is going to be fun.

and most importantly, we celebrated a baby. and not ours for once. Jesus. our reason for everything.

Isaiah 9:6

And His name will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
Eternal Father, Prince of Peace.

only him.

only he can throw up on me twice.

and on his dad twice more.

and cry for one hour straight. and then longer after that.

and still be the most precious thing in the world.

a sick baby ... really, does it get any sadder?

hope you feel better tomorrow, buddy. you are a trooper. i'm so sad that you don't feel well. you are my sweet, strong little man.

love you kid.

you know you have a baby when . . .

You show up to work with dried formula in your hair.

Your can’t see your carpet because there are toys EVERYWHERE. And you would put them away but you NEED them.

Most of the furniture in your house is made by Fisher Price.

Every single one of your couch cushions has a stain on it.

Every word spoken after 8 p.m. must be whispered.

When you get an hour alone, you spend the first ten minutes thinking about how you can clean the house, get a hair cut, go grocery shopping, visit the shoe department at Nordstrom, watch a recorded show, take a nap, read a book … all in one hour.

Sometimes you forget and talk baby talk to adults.

You can be somewhere and have your heart be entirely somewhere else.

Your entire day is planned around nap time.

You think 5:30 a.m. is sleeping in and 10 p.m. is staying up late.

You don’t know how to walk in high heels anymore.

The people in your life take on new roles as grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, etc. and you see them be amazing in different ways.

You dream about the days when your stomach was flat.

Hand sanitizer is your best friend.

The world becomes a little scarier because you have a lot more to lose.

You are very thankful for elastic.

You suddenly notice every baby around you and just how many there are in the world.

You will try anything to remove the dark circles from under your eyes.

You realize that a little person needs you for everything and it makes you want to be 100 times better than you are.

There is no such thing as a day off.

Your baby has more (and frankly cuter and more stylish) clothes than you.

You often wish for time to stop, for moments to just freeze so you can breathe it all in and tell the Lord thank you.

You don’t want to think of a world without Baby Einstein in it. It would not be good.

You now get why, when it comes to toys, the louder and more obnoxious, the better.

You cry a lot more.

You see life through a set of little eyes and it is funnier, brighter, more innocent and lovelier than you ever knew.

relapse.

(photo courtesy of jocelyn k. brown photography.)

I took last week off and spent my days with Caleb. Just the two of us. It was perfect. We cuddled, took naps, destroyed the house, were trapped during a snow day, stared at each other, cooked, practiced walking, took many falls (him, not me), played, cried, didn’t shower very much, and stayed in our pjs way too long. Like I said, perfect.

I remembered what it was like to spend my days with him being my “job.”

And then the week was over, seemingly in a flash, and before I knew it I was heading back to work and he to day care.

That morning, Caleb cried on the way to day care. And as I handed him off to his teacher, he whimpered a little bit as if he had gotten a little too used to our days together, too. I said my goodbyes and lingered a little longer than usual. Then, I walked down that hallway feeling like I might burst into tears at any moment.

That day, it was so hard to leave him.

I thought back to this letter I wrote to him seven months ago when my maternity leave had ended and I had to take him to day care for the very first time. I had dreaded the day. Here is an excerpt of that letter:

(from June 2010)

Dear Caleb,

I write this to you with the biggest lump in my throat. For weeks I've avoided thinking about going back to work, and when I did, I couldn't help but cry knowing that someone else would get to soak up every single moment of the day with you and your little smiles, looks, giggles, coos, cuddles, meltdowns and that sweet little face. I want that to be my job. Only it hasn't been a job. At first it seemed like I was the most unlikely candidate to take care of someone as precious as you. And now it just seems like this was what I was born to do . . .to change your diaper, feed you your bottle, bounce you to sleep, dangle toys in front of you face, try to keep you occupied when you are bored, fed when you are hungry, soothed when you are tired and loved all the time.

But the time has come little man. Next week I will be dropping you off at daycare and into someone else's arms to care for you for eight hours every Monday, Tuesday and Friday. In a month, it will switch to every weekday. And I know people do it all the time. I know I will be given strength and I know He will watch over you. I know I will probably enjoy being back at work and having certain freedoms. I know all of this. But still, my heart hurts. Badly.

I just miss you so much already.

Reading that made me feel so much thankfulness for where we are today. The hard part is over. I am so thankful for our day care. His teachers love him and squeeze him and answer every question we have at the end of each day. They tell us exactly what he ate and when and what games they played and what new and fun things he did. They miss him over the weekends and have extra big smiles and hugs for Monday. They get exactly just how amazing he is. And I’m so grateful for this.

So this recent sadness was just a temporary relapse. Because every single day I walk down that same hallway with great assurance knowing that he’s in perfect hands and that he’s having fun, learning lots and being loved.

The hard part is OVER. I still miss you every day, Caleb, but am so thankful for how God provided the absolute most perfect place for you and for us.

game changer.

photo from last week's game where the hawks clinched a playoff spot.

so is anyone sick of hearing how ridiculously cute and sweet my husband and son are? if you are, stop reading now.

my poor little caleb b. is sick and it takes superhuman strength to get him to take a nap. so it's a good thing i'm married to a superhero.

AND my superhero also happens to be a HUGE seahawks fan and it's only minutes away from their big playoff game and instead of doing all of his pre-game rituals (you know, like putting on the jersey, doing a few jumping jacks, watching the pre-game shows, praying ... the usual), he is sitting in the nursery, perfectly content, with our sick little bug rocking him to sleep.

i like to think of it as a new kind of tailgating. caleb is a total game changer, but the absolute best kind.

they are cute and sweet. ridiculously so.

go seahawks.