Dearest Theta Girl,
Tonight I write to you, just you. I often wonder how you will react to reading this blog many years from now. After all, this blog was never intended for you. More specifically, you were not intended. Please don't get me wrong, I do not mean to say that you were not wanted or planned (you were actually very much planned, right down to your gender). What I mean to say is that I always thought I would have one child and that that one child would be your sister. I wrote to her for years before I was ever even pregnant. I kept a box filled with old dresses, a dancing wooden bear; all my childhood treasures, just for her. For the longest time I held fast to this notion of a second generation only child, even swearing publicly that I was done having babies. But all of a sudden it crept up on me. You crept up on me. And I knew that you were out there, knocking on that proverbial door and waiting for me to let you in. I'm eternally glad that I did.
These last fifteen months have been beautiful. I can say without a doubt that I thoroughly enjoyed your infanthood in a way I wasn't able to do the first time around. This time I knew how to bounce, how to surrender. I knew that everyday you were needing less of me and that as stifling as that need felt at times, soon it would be something I would long for. We spent hours on the couch while your sister was at school, you reclined on my bent knees so I could simply stare at you. I was dazzled just making you laugh, stroking your hair and savoring the way your skin felt against mine when I kissed your buttery cheeks. At night I would fall asleep reading in the dim bedroom, your small body tucked against my side and in the very early morning the only way you would continue sleeping was if I brought you onto my chest and we could breathe in tandem for a few more hours.
I love the luminous little person you are. I love to watch your unfolding. I think of you as a small yet fierce, winged girl, my sweet Theta Bird. I love the way you fly to my hip, light as air. I love your warbling laughter, the nonsense words that fill my ears and heart like a balm.
There's more, so much more. There are so many words I want to pin down, hold still for you before they fly away. But they will have to wait. Now is time for sleep, or at least the idea of sleep. Most of the night will be spent chasing it as we configure and reconfigure our bodies around each other. But really, it's ok. Sleep will return someday. Right now you need me. And as is so perfectly clear, I need you too.
All my love,
Mama