Dear Daniel...

I wrote this during my maternity leave with Daniel and had originally posted it on my old blog.  It's one of my favorite posts because it showed me how much you can receive when you put yourself out there. I got a lot of love from this post and for those of you who are reading it for the first time, I hope you get just as much from it as others did.  XOXO, Meg

Dear Daniel,

We just got back from a long walk and we’re dancing in the kitchen to Eddie Vedder’s Ukelele Songs when it hits me how much I missed you over the weekend. You slept the entire walk which gave me time to quiet my mind and sweat out the stress of. And weekends, I know, are hard. They’re hard for me too, sweet baby boy. You and I come together when it’s time for you to nurse and what’s usually a peaceful time during the week becomes just about feeding you while making sure big brother doesn’t nuzzle your head too hard with one hand and then passing you off to daddy as soon as we’re done so I can go back to giving big bro “special mommy time.” Or so I can finish dinner. Or take a quick shower. Or something else, because there is always a something else. I think it’s fair to say, blue eyes, that being completely present for you, and only you, has been a challenge.

Before you were born, I made a silent promise to the both of us that I would try to be present, to be in each moment with you so I could create the space within myself to soak up each smile, giggle and coo. I had already thought you would be my last child so I wanted to be open and ready to receive each gift you had to offer me and I wanted to give myself to you. But I’ve been with you every day and night of your eight weeks here on this planet, and I already feel like I’ve missed part of it. Whether it was the side effects of the Magnesium Sulfate given to me to prevent seizures during your first day of life, the anxiety I felt for weeks after your birth due to having had HELLP Syndrome and an emergency, epidural-free (not by choice) induction to the constant worry I had about my first sweet baby boy’s transition to big brother and just every day ish, there was always a something else. And somewhere in the haze of all of that, was you.

But when the haze lifts and my mind is quiet, I look down and I see you. Only you. I see your button nose and those blue eyes that everyone asks about. I see that you have different looks already-alert and curious-and I know you can tell I don’t actually know the lyrics to most of the songs I softly sing to you when you squint suspiciously at me. I see that you can lift your left eye brow like I can and that your eyes get red rimmed and heavy just before you fall asleep. I see that you’ve already created a nook for yourself on my body-the space between my chin and chest-and that you like to wrap your tiny hands around the neck of my shirt. I also see that I need to cut your fingernails. Again.

I’d love to be able to tell you that I’m going to change things, that in writing this I’ve had this big epiphany and have come to understand that I need to just block things out, maybe do a little more self-care, so I can be completely present and available for you and only you. But the epiphany is this, little one, that this isn’t realistic or even doable. And to pretend that it is would do us both a disservice. This is the cost of having a full life and you, your brother and your father give that to me in exchange for the understanding that I cannot be completely there in one way or another for everyone, including you, at all times.

In a few weeks I’ll be headed back to work, one more thing that will take me away from you, both in body and in mind. But I’ve done this once before and have learned a few things along the way. I’ve learned to triage. I’ve learned work is work and home is home. But more importantly, I’ve learned to accept that the guilt and shame and worry I carry with me comes with being a parent but through offering myself grace and compassion I can lighten the load and at times, even put it down long enough to experience true joy when I am with you. That, my dear boy, is the gift we receive when we are fully engaged with someone else.

Now take heart, Danny bhoy, that I haven’t missed all of your eight weeks. I’ve come to see that you are a musical baby, like your brother. You are so much like your brother in this regard that you already prefer daddy’s music over mine. We seemed to have reached some common ground though as Ukelele Songs seems to soothe your soul and quiet your cries just as it helps quiet mine. So we dance, you and I, and claim that time for just the two of us. I hold you in my arms, gently swaying in a circle, pretending to know the lyrics. You look up at me and I look down at you, those blue eyes that we share connecting. And there it is, at least for me-true joy.