swim class 3

This is the last of the small string of swim classes Maya took with her friends Carson and Milana (Mih-lay-nah).  There were five total, but we had to miss the first due to her surgery and I missed the fourth due to an event, so here we are, our last chase around the pool for a little bit.  We're debating:  sign up for another class versus getting a YMCA pass versus letting this mama rest for a bit.

dear maya | thirteen months

Dear Maya:

Once again, I am slipping behind.  Your mama always has such good intentions, but then everything gets scrambled up.  I'm learning that 'head above water' was probably a phrase developed just for mamas like me.

You, little munchkin, are amazing.  You are walking like a pro and running?  Check.  The hostess at the restaurant we just went to asked how long you'd been running, and I thought:  Oh dear, yes, she is running now, isn't she?  I think of those cartoons, the ones where the toddlers do this strange buggish pitter-pat, this stealth scampering, and I know:  yes, this is you.

Let's see, what can I tell you about yourself this month?

You love:  peanut butter (can you tell?), pasta, bread, cheese!, water, mama's milk, sorbet, strawberries, yogurt, yogurt melts, chicken, bananas, applesauce, pickles, etc.  You are willing to taste a great deal--you've now had calamari, which is pretty unique for a bitty your age.

You say:  HI!  Oh, this is still your biggest.  You also say, "Awww," when you hug a doll of yours, or squish into Gatsby or one of the unwitting dogs.  If this were truly a word, it would be your solid second.  You still say Dog and Doggie, though I wonder at how consistent a word must be until it becomes set-in-stone a-part-of-your-vocabulary.  You make so many great, glorious sounds, and you bob and speak as if you were truly--bossing or chatting or scolding or telling a great joke--

I'm still waiting for the right mama, you little monkey.  I know it's in there.  You make the sounds, mostly when you are eating, so I'm afraid you've associated my label with my tatas, perhaps, but I'll take that.  I'm dearly anticipating the great MAMA!, and your papa says that when you've learned it and know what you can get when you say it, I'll regret it deeply.  This may be so. 

But until then, a little mama won't hurt.

When you were the smallest, you were the zenbaby, and for the most part, you are still a pretty laid-back toddler.  You have hit your not the mama! phase, which left your dear Auntie Em a bit tattered in the first watching adventure that didn't involve me, your dad, or one of your grandmums, but she survived, and my car sped its way back from campus to you zippity-quick and you went back to your charming self fairly quickly.  It makes me nervous to think of writing residencies or going to a retreat, but maybe that's not in the cards for me this summer.  And that's OK.  I'd rather wake up to you than any kind of quiet in the world, love.  Promise. 

Your bedtime has crept a bit earlier, which makes your da sigh a heft of relief:  you're now averaging much closer to the grand eleven o'clock, hooray!  You sleep until ten or so, which is just fine by me, but lately, you've been nursing more in the night, and after my physical therapy, I've been contorting myself from a prone position, which may or may not be helping, and you've been waking damp and back to that newborn poop-explosion within an hour of waking, so you're going through outfits again like nobody's business. 

You weigh twenty-two-ish pounds, by the way.  In case you're tracking.  You're still in the seventieth-
ish percentile, which is just fine by me, but it appears you have the shape of the Suttons:  that is, like me and like your grandpa, you have a longer torso and stubbier legs.  We'll practice not walking on your toes, OK?  If you are like me, you won't be fond of the results.

I love the way you love us, the way we love you, the way the three of us pal around together.  I feel like we are in a giant slumber party--maybe this is because we co-sleep, or because I let the two of us wear our pajamas a bit longer into the day than normal folks--but there is something glorious about that love the three of us have for one another. 

Too many times a day, I say to your father:  "How did this happen?  How did we get to be so lucky?"  And I am truly astonished.  I watch you wander around our home, crowing from corner to corner, delighting in the dogs and the cats, wagging books in our faces, patting us and offering your sweet mug up for kisses, and honestly, I don't know.  Maybe we did something good in our past lives.  I am still not over how I got to be so lucky to have met your father, but then he goes and marries me and then we go and have you. 

Thirteen months of you.  Can we have thirteen thousand?  Can we snuggle into one another and keep this big-hearted happiness forever?  I love watching you grow, so don't worry--I won't suck you into this home for your whole life and some day you can graduate to a big girl bed.  But for now, I'm trying to soak in this three-of-us vibe.  It's awfully special.

Love,
mama

my new (fierce) editor

 

 

 

 

winter in minnesota

Here's what I've been thinking about this Minnesota winter:  What is going on?

I have yet to wear my winter jacket anywhere, even while taking these photographs.  See my husband?  Fleece.  Of course we bundle our little silly--babies are not the same as nutty adults who have lived too long in this Midwestern climate.  But last winter, this time?  My bones were shivering.

I see it on the news--the push of cold air, the way Europe is getting the cold, the way we are getting strange warm temperatures, and I keep checking the weather channel in hopes that a storm might be on its way.  There's something delightfully romantic about staying in and reading a book, taking a hot bath or simply just watching those snowflakes filter down.

another swim class

 

Maya had an entourage at our swim class this week:  Ryan came, as did my mother, who came to town to help me out (I had my first physical therapy appointment, so she hung with the bear, and let me sneak in a trip to the post office and get an oil change, and without a toddler in tow, such a luxury!).  These photographs are courtesy of my own mama, to which I give her deep thanks as it isn't often I'm on the other side of the lens, and she's got a great eye.

There we are again, lined up perfectly: Stef with Carson, Melanie with Milana, and me with the bear.

 (Oh curse the lighting here--how lovely if this could have been in focus!)  The second photo up is where Carson and Maya play footsie.  I wonder if this will be the first time of many?  We like to tease that if our kiddos grow up in the same town, perhaps one day they'll date.  Or just be very dear friends who stick up for one another through thick and thin.  You know the imaginings of mamas with their wee babes...