Happy Seventh Birthday

You are officially twelve days into seven. By now it should come as no surprise to you that this birthday letter is a whole lot of days late. The right words have been harder to come by the bigger you get. 

We’ve had another banner year kiddo. We moved (again) to the home you will grow up in and move out of to start your own adventures.  Shawny asked me to marry him while you were singing and twirling around us and then immediately asked you for permission to be your “other dad”. In case you forget when you’re a sullen, fuming teenager—you were totally thrilled at the prospect, face timing everyone you knew to tell them all about it. You currently are wandering around missing your two bottom teeth, much to my dismay. It is a tangible reminder of just how grown up you’re getting. You have thrived in first grade and genuinely love going to school.  You’ve scored a 100 on every single spelling test except one, where you got a word wrong because you got distracted and forgot to finish writing it (apparently we’re related after all).  

This has also been the year of the distracted Mama. Between wedding planning and working and just general life responsibilities I spend so much time in my day telling you “just one minute” and answering your questions through a fog of a thousand other thoughts and to-do lists. I worry constantly that I’m not giving you enough, that you’re feeling neglected. That 10 years from now you’re going to look back at this time in our life and remember me crying about invitation envelopes or fuming about seating arrangements and not remember the February vacation we spent doing something fun every single day (ice skating and beach walking and bookstores and museums).  Or that you’re going to remember all the times I told you there was no time for a bedtime story and not the nights that I let you read three books to me in a row. 

Your family birthday party occurred the day after my bridal shower. I was exhausted, frazzled and completely wracked with guilt that there was not one ounce of Pinterest evident in your celebration. But you see, you’re always surprising me.  You spent the day with a giant grin plastered on your face and at bedtime you told me that your favorite part of the day was not presents or cake but spending time with your friends and family. Another valuable life lesson orchastrated by you.

Shawn and I got you a swingset this year. It was installed the day before your birthday and when we got back from a celebratory dinner with Mimi and Grampa, you and I leapt out of the car and sprinted to the backyard. We dove on to the swings and tried out every last feature together, giggling amid shouts of “Come see!”.  Shawn looked at me with a sly smile and said “I’m not sure who is more excited”. 

This is what parenting has been like this year for me.  So many moments of worry and guilt and arguements and tears followed by moments of pure, exhilirating joy. The kind of happiness that you feel in the tips of your toes and to the very top of your head. 

One night last week, you invited me to come swing with you. Inititally I said no. The kitchen was a mess and I still had work to do and…the list is endless. But watching you swing in solitude from the kitchen window tugged unexpectedly at my heart and I realized with a jolt that before I knew it you wouldn’t be asking me to do anything with you any more. I knew my position as playmate in your life is tenuous at best.  So I joined you. As we were swinging lazily side by side, you talked incessently. About how beautiful it was in our backyard, about how excited you were for the wedding, about how special it was that Shawn chose to love you when he didn’t have to, about how Shawn probably tried and tried not to love me but finally couldn’t take it anymore and just had to give in. Having this unfiltered view into your mind was something pretty special. Because with each day you become less an extension of me and very much every inch your own, independent person. 

My days start with listening for the sometimes shuffle sometimes speedy patter of your feet coming down the hall and then having you slide into bed between Shawn and I for some early morning cuddles. At the end of my day, before going to bed, I sneak into your room to marvel at you, for just a minute (the amount of pictures I have of you sleeping on my phone are probably a little creepy) and plant a kiss on the top of you head with a whispered “I love you".  In between, there may be raised voices and exsasperated sighs and slammed doors but my day always begins and ends with you. Being your mama is what I measure every other experience in my life against. 

No matter what kind of craziness life may bring to us my girl, you will always come first. 

Happy 7^th Birthday to the very best thing to happen to her Mama.  

Wedding Woes...

I’m getting married in 39 days.

Or, if I consult the countdown app that I downloaded because I’m a total masochist- 1 month, 7 days, 23 hours 35 minutes and rapidly disappearing seconds.

When we started planning our wedding a little more than a year ago, I was convinced that a full years worth of wedding planning would be a practically unbearable amount of time. That the days would drag and linger and I would be left just twiddling my thumbs and waiting.

Like most of my ridiculous assumptions, I couldn’t have been more wrong.

This year has flown by in a flurry of decisions (not my strong suit), tears (both of the happy and the absolute irrational meltdown variety) and a moment or two (or 5,253) of “why the hell didn’t we just elope”. I’ve bored just about everyone I’ve encountered with incessant wedding chatter and have developed actual opinions about things like wedding bands and photo booths.

Suddenly, people who I barely knew began sharing their thoughts about my wedding without even a second of hesitation.  I have become fluent in a language I didn’t even know existed- of linens and letter pressed stationary, calligraphers and seamstresses and so much etsy.  Wedding planning turns rational, kind human beings (myself included) into insane monsters with toddler-level emotions and coping skills.

Sweet, well-meaning coworkers and distant facebook acquaintances were constantly minimizing my stress level, insisting that this should be “the happiest time of my life”. To which I would dryly reply “dear god. I hope not.”

I have this awful habit of trying to do everything and doing none of it particularly well. I had been working long days, doing the mom thing, getting up at 5 am to work out in my basement in the name of “self-care” (aka being totally anxiety ridden at that thought of 250 people seeing me in a wedding dress) and balancing my laptop in my lap while “relaxing” in bed, placing orders for various wedding “essentials”. Two weeks ago, I reached a level of exhaustion that I didn’t know was possible. I called in sick from work and slept. For an entire day. I got up, ate dinner with my family, and went back to bed and immediately back to sleep. 20 hours of sleep and I began to feel moderately human again. I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me, other than perhaps I was actually dying.

That Friday, I left for my bachelorette party. I knew nothing about our agenda, except that were were heading to Newport and that most of my favorite people would be in attendance.

That weekend was magic.

I didn’t think once about the minute wedding details that had been ruling my life. I didn’t think of the unfinished pile of paperwork sitting on my desk at work. I didn’t think about my 6 year old for more than the time it took to FaceTime and say a hello and I love you (she was having the time of her life with her grandparents, as usual). I didn’t think about what Shawn was doing, except when he checked in with me at 11pm on a Saturday night to tell me he was exhausted and would rather be falling asleep on the couch with me.

I was happy.

I was surrounded by this amazing group of women, by my friends and Shawn’s friends and my soon-to-be sisters in law. Any worries I had about how everyone would get along dissolved instantly. We played silly games, laughed more than I have in a very long time, helped each other with our hair and makeup and ate our weight in junk food. We danced. For hours. (And for one glorious 10 minute period, to the best Beyonce mash-up I have ever heard. I’m pretty sure that DJ is STILL rolling his eyes) We had a private wine tasting with this actor-turned-wine expert named Kevin who complimented us for leaving our penis accessories at home and gave us much more than your typical tasting pour whenever his boss wasn’t looking.  I took a late night cab ride to a very exclusive hot dog stand that turned out to just be a 7-11 and I ate the hot dog anyway. I don't even like hot dogs and it was still delicious. 

I felt loved and supported and buoyed by all this positive energy.  A sense of excitement and anticipation started buzzing within me, replacing the “how am I ever going to get all this stuff done” dread that had been weighing heavily in the pit of my stomach. I missed Shawn fiercely, sending him a barrage mushy texts after last call. This was a marked improvement over the week before when I was not-so-silently fuming at him for the way he was stuffing invitation envelopes and irrationally thinking “oh no is this really what I’m going to be stuck with FOREVER !?!?”

That weekend was a gift. One I will be forever grateful for. 

It provided me with an essential bit of perspective. That the whole point of this wedding nonsense is to be surrounded by people who love you, who have watched you flounder and grow and flourish and to celebrate. To be happy. Since that trip, I’ve been able to consciously chose to not worry about every little detail ( a rather impressive accomplishment, seeing as I’ve encountered a way too small flower girl dress and several invitation snafus in the last 72 hours alone) and to let myself just be excited.

Engagement and wedding season is rapidly approaching and I have this unsolicited piece of advice for all brides-to-be. Accept that you will, no matter how laid-back or organized or decisive you are- momentarily lose your mind. People who you love and admire may also join you in temporary insanity. You will have at the very least one 20 minute period where you cry uncontrollably- and the catalyst for this will be entirely unrelated to your wedding and very confusing for your fiance. You will become a distant (at best) or terrible (at worst) friend and a moderately distracted employee. But also know- it gets better. You can make the choice to let it go and just look forward with excitement and joy. Accept help, delegate tasks and realize nobody cares as much as you do (or as much as you think they do. Except for maybe your mother. She probably cares, a lot). 

On May 7th, I’m not going to be worried about the quality of my table linens or if the white hydrangeas compliment the meticulously selected yellow roses. I’m not going to care if there was enough Advil in our bathroom baskets or if our guests are scraping the Gorgonzola cheese off of their fillets. I am just going to be happy. To be surrounded by all the people who have loved me throughout the course of my life while I proudly commit the rest of it to a partnership with the very best person I know.

And I’m going to be dancing. For hours. Preferably to Beyonce.