Tag Archives: dreams

Have to run…It’s snuggle time.

28 Nov

There is this feeling inside of me and these thoughts that have been formulating in my head for a few weeks now; I have been trying to find the words. I talk so much on here about my son and my family and my struggles, but I have have been wanting to write about the gratitude–the immense gratefulness–that I feel for my daughter.

This is not a revelation; I started this site four and a half years ago to express such feelings, but lately I have just watched her in awe. Like last night, at Thanksgiving, when she got up in front of the room of 30 people, in a poofy striped skirt and Doc Martins, and sang 3 songs from Frozen like it wasn’t no thang.

I wrote in June about trying to be present in my precious time with my girl, and, more recently, about wanting to LIVE.

So every night at bedtime, I savor the one more minute that she begs for, because she is growing up and growing into herself, and there will be a time, someday, when I will be the one begging her for “just one more hug.”

Bedtime last week, she said, “You’re pretty mom. You look pretty when you’re sick. You’re pretty when you don’t feel well. You look pretty when you’re hurt. You look pretty when it’s your birthday. You just always look pretty.”

And my daughter is astute; I think that this was her way of saying “Mom, I know you’ve been a hot mess this past year, but I still think of you as my beautiful mother; I cherish you.”

And then there was two nights ago. Earlier in the day, as we were getting ready, I called her over to me and said, “Do you remember how I told you that you are my dream come true? Well, you’re better than anything I could have ever imagined in my dreams.”

“Awwwwww,” she said. “That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.” She is a trip.

So at bedtime that night she said, “Mom, you are lucky to have me. But I am lucky to have you. And i love you so so so so much in my whole wide heart. And you are the best mom I’ve ever had. And when I was dreaming of having a mom, when I wished for you, I was a tiny baby and said ‘Wah Wah Wah, I want Rebecca Starr, Wah Wah Wah’ and you know what? I am so lucky because I got you and you are better than my dreams.”

It was her way of reciprocating. It was adorable. And it was more.

She and I don’t get a ton of solo time together anymore; Because I am staying at home with my son for the time being, he’s always kind of around (and he makes his presence known), so today I took my daughter out for a girl’s date.

First I let her pick out any necklace of mine to wear.

She went for ultra glam.

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Can’t say I blame her, frankly.

Then we went to the nail salon and got manicures, side by side. This is a rare and special treat for us, and she must have looked over at me 20 times and smiled, a beaming, knowing smile.

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And when we got into my car, instead of just heading home (as I had done 100% of the time we did any type of errand in the past year), I looked back at her and asked if she wanted to go out for ice cream.

We headed to a quaint ice cream shop and enjoyed rainbow cones and a really sweet conversation about all of the town’s landmarks. It was so cold outside, but it didn’t matter. It’s never too cold for rainbow ice cream.

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It was delicious. Every moment was delicious.

When I am in the thick of things, and feel as though I am unraveling, or feel frustrated at my lack of progress in the past year, it is hard to see how far I have come. My friends and family tell me. My friend even called me on the day I had both kids home sick with me to say “What you are doing is hard for ANYONE. Look at what you are doing. You never could have done this at this time last year.”

And I had to admit, she was right.

But I have this incredible family, and the heart and soul of it is my beautiful, kind, spunky, vivacious, sensitive, sparkly daughter. And she is worth living for.

So from now on, my goal is to try to always make that extra stop. To turn an errand into a memory.

Because I have gotten a second chance,

and I have gotten a dream daughter.

And, I couldn’t make this up if I tried, she just came into the room where I am typing and said, “Mom, can I just snuggle with you for a little?” and so I am going to put the computer down, put my arms around her

and live.


I just realized.

25 Nov

I am going to admit something difficult. Today has been a hard day.

My daughter finally got to go back to school, which is wonderful.

This is finally happening, which is also wonderful…

except that it means that they are currently jack-hammering the perimeter of an 1100 square foot basement. It’s a little loud.

So my son’s 2 hour morning nap was cut to 15 minutes.

I don’t like to bother my family and friends with my problems; I know that may seem surprising, as I am constantly talking about my incredible support system, but I desperately do not want to be self-involved or insensitive of their time or to worry them. I keep a lot in. But today, I felt like I could admit it. I spoke with my dear friend of over 13 years this morning about the crippling anxiety I was feeling. She guided me through some techniques to assuage the feelings.

And I told my mom, which is something that I have rarely done as of late. And she said that what I am feeling–this heaviness–is all because of what is coming up on Thursday. Thursday is Thanksgiving, for which I am more thankful than ever, but it is also the anniversary of a very troubled time in my life.

And then my mommom called to invite us to the mall and I wasn’t able to go because of the whole baby no-nap situation and she knew I was anxious and she said, “I am always just a phone call away. Although my fax machine broke this morning and I am so frustrated, I don’t know what to do.”

I assured her that I wouldn’t be faxing her with an SOS, so that she could take that off of her list of worries.

And then I texted with a special friend, a friend who gets me, because she sat on the floor with me all last winter, even through my darkest of times, as our babies rolled around and drooled on each other. And I told her that I felt as though I was unraveling. And she made it better.

And all of those things that I just wrote about are concrete examples of the incredible tribe that I have surrounding me.

But then I did the most important thing of all;

I picked up my son and looked into his eyes. I kissed his face and nuzzled him into my cheek and inhaled him so deeply.

“I love you, I love you, I love you.”

I asked him if he wanted a baba. “Baba!” he said.

My son, who is now learning to talk, and learning to walk, and dances when he hears music and squeals with glee over Lola and knows to pet her ever so gently and who understands everything we say; As I looked at him, I felt more love for him than I have ever felt for him before.

And then it hit me;

My daughter is, and has always been, so obviously my dream come true. She is named the name we chose 3 months into dating and that I chose when I was 10 years old. She is exactly like me in looks and personality. We are so bonded. She is my heart and soul.

But my son, my dear son

just may be the very best thing that has ever happened to me.

I looked over to the framed painting I made for him that hangs in the corner of his nursery.

Take me where the music’s playing

Get me on the dance floor, hold me a little closer.

And I swayed with my son, my lips to his cheek, and the deluge of memories of the past year poured over me.

He has taught me that I could overcome things that I never imagined I would be strong enough to endure.

He may drive me crazy with his “lively antics”, but oh my goodness, my son is the best thing that has ever happened to me.

He redefined me.

He has given me purpose.

He opened up parts of me that I didn’t know existed.

His first year was not filled with the magic and enchantment like it was with his sister.

He didn’t come out looking like me or acting in a way that I understood inherently.

But I now rock him to bed every night, and I look down at his sleeping face and I marvel at how he looks exactly the same as he did when they would place him next to me to nurse in the hospital bed.

This little ball of energy and activity and constant movement and craziness has saved me.

Remind me to thank him for it.