Dear Lucy,
Yesterday marked your 16th month. I realized that, even though I started this journal to write you letters about the world you live in (or something like that), I haven't really done that. Perhaps what's been stopping me is the fact that I want to keep you innocent and somehow, documenting current events diminishes this perfection. But today I decided I should write down a few things for you.
Right now our country is in the process of confirming a new Supreme Court Justice. And he would be the Chief Justice, if confirmed. His name is Jonn Roberts. Dad and I were talking last night -- if he confirmed, he could be in that position until we are retired, because it is a lifetime position. So what John Roberts says, and what opinions he has, is of great interest to us. We want to know what he "stands" for because it is a very powerful position, one that could and will change the course of history.
Also, a few weeks ago, there was a tragedy in the Southern part of the U.S. There was a hurricane and flooding. Many people of died and many more are injured and displaced. Many people may not recover from the devastation. I cannot believe that this is happening here -- it is so sad, I don't have the words. I have tried not to look at images, because my mind creates it's own horrifying pictures. In our own way, we are thinking and hoping that there will be a shift in this country, a shift to protect everyone -- of every race, creed and income status.
And that is all I can say about what is happening, because you are sitting right beside me, eating your lunch. I love you so much. I love the way you ask for bananas. The way you ask me to read to you, the way you take off your glasses before a nap. You look at pictures of family and ask me to name them. You want me to repeat 'nose', 'mouth', 'ear', 'eye' multiple times a day. Even when you are crying -- throwing a fit -- asking for dad -- I'm yours.
Love,
Mama
Friday, September 16, 2005
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
Movement
Dear Lucy,
Your development amazes me. You are transferring more and more, becoming braver by the day. When you fall over, you rarely cry; you will hold your hand to the spot that hit the floor and look confused for a moment. I know that you will be walking soon, and this is both exciting and frightening.
Only a moment ago, you were born. This is how it feels to be your mother -- 'it', 'this', is so fleeting -- I have a lump in my throat, often, when I'm away from you. Your personality is blossoming. You understand little jokes that we share with you and laugh at us. You know what you like to eat, and when you want to eat it. You like the books "Peek a Who?" and "Brown Bear" this week. You've made me read them 20 times in a row but I do it gladly. I love the end of the book, when you spy yourself in the mirror and you put your nose up to it to examine the 'other' baby.
Four molars have joined your first 8 teeth and there are four more teeth coming. Sweet jesus, you should be eating steak by now! I try to brush your no-so-little teeth at night, but you would rather chew on the toothbrush, sucking off all of the paste, and I let you, because you scream otherwise. And it is piercing, the screaming.
You are your father's girl. Sometimes I am jealous of this. You'll nurse and then, as soon as you are finished, sit up in my lap and look around -- "dad?" you say. The other night he was gone and you made me sit on the porch, watching cars go by. When you would see a white car, your little finger would point out -- "dad?, dad?". But this is beautiful in it's own right.
We love you dearly.
Yours,
Mama
Your development amazes me. You are transferring more and more, becoming braver by the day. When you fall over, you rarely cry; you will hold your hand to the spot that hit the floor and look confused for a moment. I know that you will be walking soon, and this is both exciting and frightening.
Only a moment ago, you were born. This is how it feels to be your mother -- 'it', 'this', is so fleeting -- I have a lump in my throat, often, when I'm away from you. Your personality is blossoming. You understand little jokes that we share with you and laugh at us. You know what you like to eat, and when you want to eat it. You like the books "Peek a Who?" and "Brown Bear" this week. You've made me read them 20 times in a row but I do it gladly. I love the end of the book, when you spy yourself in the mirror and you put your nose up to it to examine the 'other' baby.
Four molars have joined your first 8 teeth and there are four more teeth coming. Sweet jesus, you should be eating steak by now! I try to brush your no-so-little teeth at night, but you would rather chew on the toothbrush, sucking off all of the paste, and I let you, because you scream otherwise. And it is piercing, the screaming.
You are your father's girl. Sometimes I am jealous of this. You'll nurse and then, as soon as you are finished, sit up in my lap and look around -- "dad?" you say. The other night he was gone and you made me sit on the porch, watching cars go by. When you would see a white car, your little finger would point out -- "dad?, dad?". But this is beautiful in it's own right.
We love you dearly.
Yours,
Mama
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