Mommyhood – Van Plus Fam

2 years

August 3, 2015September 9, 2015 christinebassham

Dear Reagan,

Two years. Two years since we met face to face. Two years since I first held you in my arms. Two years since I heard that first cry. Two years since my world became your world. Two years since you made me a mother.

On your second birthday, I can’t help but look back. A slideshow runs through my mind. One that I replay over and over again.

Click. It starts that first squeeze of my finger. I know they say it is a reflex, but to me it was a physical manifestation of the heaviness of this new love. How can something so small be so mighty?

Click. I see you at 3 weeks old. Looking up at my with big eyes at 3 a.m., double swaddled, bouncing, with the water running, in the dark. Me, looking down at you exhausted, tired, spent. Barely hanging on, wondering what in the world I got myself into.

Click. Another 3 weeks go by and you smile for the first time. A sight that erases all those feelings of fear and worry, if only for a moment. I needed that smile. It fuels me, it keeps me afloat in the treading water marathon that is the newborn stage.

Click. You’re sitting up in flannel Christmas pajamas. You are surrounded by family, love, and awe as you grab at the wrapping paper of your very first Christmas presents. From here on out, I know that the holidays will never the same. Christmas through the eyes of a child, I don’t know that it gets more magical than that.

Click. You’re walking. Toppling steps and cheers abound. You don’t reach for my fingers to hold onto anymore. You move without assistance. A new independence that I so desperately crave for you, but also fear. My instincts to protect you from falling, from getting hurt struggle against your desire to explore this new world. One that you tackle with wonder.

Click. Mommy. You call me Mommy. My heart skips a beat.

Click. It’s July 9, 2014. We made it one whole year. I look at you illuminated by the glow of a lone candle. You are just so beautiful, so full of life and wonder. I don’t know how anything could top this past year. I don’t know how I could possibly love you more, how it could possibly get any better than this.

Click. I drop you off at Mother’s Day Out for the first time. You cry, actually scream, with arms outstretched to me. Your teacher tells me to go (quickly), that you will be fine as soon as I am gone. I follow instructions, putting my sunglasses on as soon as I exit your room. Tears stream down my face. I wait at a coffee shop across the street and pick you up two hours early. You run to me and engulf me in a hug.

Click. I am 8 months pregnant with your brother. We are standing on the San Clemente Pier in California, our last trip as a family of three. You run and chase birds as the sun sets.

Click. My due date is tomorrow. I cry all day, soaking up every second of having you as my one and only.

Click. You meet your brother for the first time. You instinctively kiss him. My heart has never been so full.

Click. Christmas morning. Pure magic. You don’t get it totally, but you get it enough. You run from gift to gift, family member to family member in your red and white striped pajamas. All eyes are on you. You laugh. You smile. You light up the room.

Click. Stomach bug. We isolate your brother and you lay on me, no movement except for the sound of your inhale and exhale. I hate that you are sick, but love holding you. These days you are always on the run, and I cherish having time to study your soft face, stroke your blond hair, and rock you to sleep. You will always be my baby.

Click. Aruba. 24/7 sun, sand, ocean, and pool. You are in heaven. We joke that you were born for beach living and contemplate becoming perma-vacationers.

Click. You make your brother laugh more than anyone else. He has a special smile reserved only for you. He looks up to you. And, I can tell you will forever protect him. The bond between you two grows daily. You are best friends.

Click. Who is this little girl? She runs freely, without a care in the world. She is brave, fearless. She brings sunshine to every room she enters. She loves deeply and is loved beyond measure. Her beauty on the outside is only rivaled by her beauty on the inside. The sound of her laughter is the sweetest music. Her eyes are the deepest blue and filled with wonder, imagination, and magic.

While I can’t help but look back, I also look forward.

I look forward to watching you grow, to being your biggest cheerleader as you take on the world.

You my dear, Reagan, can do anything. You can be anything. You were made for greatness. I will always be on your team. I will always love you. I will always be there for you.

Happy 2^nd Birthday.

All my love,

Mom

Mommyhood

Happy Birthday Reagan!

July 9, 2014July 29, 2014 christinebassham

Dear Reagan,

Happy Birthday! You are a whole year old! I know you won’t remember this year, but I will never forget it. I will never forget holding you in my arms the day you were born. I will never forget seeing you smile at six weeks old for the very first time. I will never forget the sweet sound of your laugh or how it shakes your whole body. I will never forget your first wobbly steps. I will never forget those wet kisses you gave or those perfect hugs. I will never forget the pure bliss in rocking you fast asleep.

I will never forget how you completely transformed me, how you made me a mother.

Reagan, I won’t say that this year has been easy. It hasn’t. There were times that were tough, times that I cried with you, times when I didn’t think I could do it. But I think that is motherhood. It isn’t always pretty, but somehow it is always beautiful. And this year has been so beautiful.

The joy surrounding our family since the day you were born has been immeasurable. You shine, Reagan. You give off a light that brightens the world around you. (Appropriately, this weekend we are throwing you a “Sunshine” first birthday party — you are our little sunshine).

I keep trying to put into words what being your mother has meant to me. It is so hard to capture that love in words. Sure, it is unconditional, but it is more than that. It is a feeling of vulnerability because I can’t imagine a world without you. It is a feeling of strength because I would give my life to protect you. It is a feeling of pride because everything you do amazes me. It is a feeling of belonging because you are mine.

Today, as I approached the house, I saw you in the window waving your little hand as fast as it could go, bouncing up and down, and smiling the biggest smile at me. That, right there, is the best feeling in the world – I never had that before I had you. Thank you for loving me. I hope you know that forever and always, no matter what, I love you.

Happy Birthday, sweet Reagan.

xoxoxo
Mom

Mommyhood

My First Mother’s Day

June 3, 2014June 3, 2014 christinebassham

Dear Reagan,

Being your mother is the greatest privilege of my life. I look at you and feel pure love and joy. Last Sunday, I celebrated my first Mother’s Day as a mother. It was incredibly special. Your father surprised me with pictures he had taken of you and him — my two absolute favorite people in this world. It was the perfect gift.

A few things I have learned about motherhood these last 10 months:

The love you feel for your child is unlike any other: I have never loved someone as unconditionally as I love you. My instinct to love you and protect you is so strong and natural. I can say with 100% confidence that I will love you forever and always, no matter what.

Being a mom is hard work: I used to think my job as a full-time lawyer was “hard work.” I remember coming home from a late night at the office or a week of traveling and thinking something along the lines of “I have no free time.” Well, fast forward to present day, and I realize that then, I had all the time in the world. I cannot even imagine coming home for work at 8 p.m. and having nothing to do, but feed myself and put myself to bed (and get an uninterrupted night sleep). I cannot remember what it was like to have weekends reserved for brunching, TV marathons, outings with friends, and personal errands. It all seems like a distant memory. Now, life is busy. Really busy. And, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I fell in love all over again with your dad: Seeing my husband become a father has been one of the most special, heart-warming things of my life. From the moment he held you, I saw him change. He simultaneously became more vulnerable and more protective than ever before. I love seeing his face light up when he comes home from work to see you waving by the window at him. I love that he always calls “dibs” on putting you to bed at night. I love that he rocks you well after you have already fallen asleep just so he can have extra time holding you. I love that he has no shame in doing whatever it takes to make you laugh. I love that he brags about you to his friends. I love that he is adamant about giving you money to invest in your future when you are older. I love that he loves you like no one else in the world.

It really is the little things that matter most: This statement has never rung so true. Hearing you talk, seeing you throw cheerios to the dog, watching you gain the confidence to let go of the couch and take a step all on your own, feeling you place a little wet kiss on my cheek . . . those little things bring me more joy and satisfaction than anything.

Time goes by too quickly: I cannot tell you how many people stop my in the public to tell me two things. One, your baby is adorable (I know). Two, enjoy this time — it goes by in the blink of an eye. Your first year has definitely gone by way too fast. It makes me sad, but at the same time, every single month with you has been better/more fun than the month before. I love seeing you grow, develop a personality, and turn into a little person. I wish I could slow down time. I wish I had more of it with you. But, I also appreciate that because our time isn’t infinite, we have to make the most of it. I try my best to do that with you.

I love you sweet, beautiful Reagan! Thank you for making me a mommy.

Love,

Mom

Mommyhood

Small moments

December 27, 2013December 27, 2013 christinebassham

Dear Reagan,

It is going by too fast. I was warned. “Days will fly by.” “Don’t blink.” “Soak it up because it doesn’t last long.”

While that is all painfully true, no one told me how your whole concept of time transforms when you have a child. Time is no longer measured in duration. It isn’t minutes, hours, and days. Time is measured by moments — and these moments are more sacred than any defined length of time. There are the big moments, the milestones. Your first smile. Your first laugh. The first time you rolled over. The first time you tried solid foods (that face you made is forever etched in my memory). The first time you sat up. . . I always knew about these big moments. I knew you were supposed to put them in the scrapbook, document them. I knew you were supposed to dwell on them, share them, remember them. I knew you weren’t supposed to miss them.

What no one told me about was the purest of bliss found in the little moments, the forgotten ones — the ones you don’t write down, the ones you don’t capture, the ones you don’t recap, the ones you take for granted, the ones you experience every day until one day, without any notice, you don’t.

Today that moment was the 3 seconds when you stopped crying just long enough to laugh after Mommy sneezed this morning.

I know I can’t do anything about the fact that time with march forward. Now will become then. And then will become way back then. I know that I can’t immerse myself in every little moment. I know I can’t remember every laugh or every smile. But I know that I can do better about appreciating them while they happen. And while I long for the past (holding you in my arms for the first time) and look forward to the future (hearing you say “Mama”), the present has never been so beautiful.

To my sweet, smart, adorable, and wonderfully made 5 and a half month old: I love you forever and always no matter what.

Love,

Mom

Mommyhood

Back to the office

October 8, 2013October 8, 2013 christinebassham

Dear Reagan,

We had established a routine. I would wake up at 7:00 a.m., throw on my bathrobe, make myself a cup of coffee, and then watch you sleep before waking you up at 7:30 a.m. to eat. After a leisurely feeding, we would spend the morning playing on your gym, looking at things outside, doing tummy time, and “dancing” to the toddler station on Pandora. I could kiss you whenever I wanted. I could snuggle you for as long as I wanted. I could bear witness to your absorbing of the world with utter fascination and determination.

This morning everything was different. I woke up at 6:00 a.m. to put on makeup, straighten my hair, and put on something appropriately business casual. I rushed downstairs to pack my pump, pump parts, and cooler. I carefully measured out bottles of milk for you to consume that day. I picked out an outfit for you to wear and set it out for you to be changed into. I made sure that all of your stations were in order for the day: diapers at the changing station, toys at your activity gym, pacifier near your bouncer, swaddle blanket ready for naptime. I woke you up at 7:30 – desperately trying to keep your routine though aching to have woken you up earlier – and fed you with tears welling up in my eyes as I watched the clock inch forward. A quick kiss, a long hug, and I handed you off to our nanny, Caroline, while I toppled out the door carrying a hospital grade pump and an oversized bag consumed with all the appropriate parts.

I spent my morning as a lawyer. Working on my computer screen instead of working at making you smile. Reading legal briefs instead of reading you “Goodnight Moon.” Painstakingly pumping at my desk instead of looking down at your sweet face while nursing you.

My body is physically incapable of being away from you for more than three hours (hence, the pump). I spent my day wondering if that is because babies and their mothers are supposed to be together at the beginning.

I wish I could tell you that I was “so busy at work I hardly had time to be sad.” I wish I knew, like really knew inside my core, that it would get easier.

I feel a hole inside me knowing that I missed you today — that I missed day 91 of your life.

I love you forever and always,

Mom

Mommyhood

A Whole New World

September 4, 2013September 4, 2013 christinebassham

Dear Reagan,

You are eight weeks old. Being your mother has been the greatest privilege of my life thus far. You are miraculous. You smile so wide that it consumes your entire face. You have conversations filled with “coos” and grunts. You giggle in your sleep causing your little body to shake. You get so very mad when you are hungry that you turn red . You stick out your little lip when you cry. You eyes get heavy when you are eating. and you often fall asleep midway through. You kick your legs and flap your arms in the bath. You demand to be held facing outward so that you can take in the world around you. You entertain yourself with your reflection in your activity gym.

You have a personality. It is awe inspiring.

My life transformed when you arrived. I instantly received the instinct to protect you and guard you. I know you are only a newborn, but I have already broken down thinking about your first day of kindergarden, your high school graduation, and the day your father walks you down the aisle. Call it post-pregnancy hormones, but time is going by much too quickly and it terrifies me.

Sometimes I look at you and just cry because I love you so much. Each day I fall more deeply and madly in love with you.

Love,

Mom