Two

We celebrated Cora's second birthday on Saturday. It was a cozy morning party with friends. I spent last week remembering childhood birthday parties while thinking about the small details of Cora's party--things like cupcakes or cake, what sorts of brunchy things we'd serve, ways to get toddlers to dance, things like that. More, though, I was imagining picking Cora up in the morning with a full heart and a pronounced sense of my daughter's babyhood ending. I didn't feel that way; I was just so excited to celebrate her birthday--more excited, maybe, than she was.

The thing is, her birthday party wasn't on her actual birthday; she was born two years ago today. So I was a little surprised to feel all those feelings this morning. She sat across from us in the kitchen, spooning oatmeal and yogurt and wearing beads around her neck, and I stared at her while remembering pacing around the Seattle University's track near Swedish hospital, trying to get my contractions to speed up. And now she is a little person with opinions and stubborn behavior who is able to gracefully maneuver a spoon of milky oatmeal into her mouth.

She's growing up.

To make matters more oddly emotional, I dropped her off this morning at the new nanny share we're trying out Monday mornings for a few hours. I'm tucked away at a bookstore trying to get started on the next chapter of my novel, and a baby is crying nearby. A woman just walked by with her bundled seven-month-old who is placidly sitting on her hip and staring at everything she stares at--no squirming, no begging for down, no sudden launching into space and beyond with strong legs.

It's not that I am sad to see her grow. It's that the growth is sometimes astonishing, and I wonder if I'll ever get over the growing pains from the joy of watching her turn into herself.

Fast

December 2007, two weeks old:


May 2009, seventeen months old:


Outside my window, leaf-covered branches cast mottled shadows on grass that has grown unexpectedly long in a short time. Cora is in her bed sleeping, curled around her piggy, tucked under layers of soft blankets.

I feel awash in gratitude. I could write a hundred lines about things that fill my heart.

I remember friends telling me how fast it goes, how quickly babies grow.

She used to weigh 5 pounds, 13 ounces. Newborn clothes were baggy on her tiny, curled legs. Her eyes were a deep, dark blue.

Today she sat at a table and spooned yogurt into her mouth, stopping periodically to blow kisses and say "yeah." She asked me to sing her a lullaby. (This is how it sounds: bubaby, bubaby, mama bubaby)

Her eyes light up when she leans in to kiss me. I see love in there. I never, ever, ever realized it would feel like this.

Her hair smells like sunshine. She crouches to examine grass and bugs. She loves to shout ICHIWAWAAAAA at the top of her lungs. When climbing stairs at the park this morning, she reached up and curled small, strong fingers around mine.

I didn't know her little hand would feel like that. I just didn't know.

Happy belated mother's day to all you mothers and mothers-to-be.