Dear Claire, Month Whatever

Dear Claire,

We have turned a corner, my dear.

I guess I need to back up.  I haven't written you a letter in over a year (something that you're sure to hold over my head when you're looking for proof that I love your brothers more) so much of the turmoil surrounding your three-ness has gone unblogged.

Your threes were a trying time in our lives. You're strong willed and independent (which is exactly what I prayed that you'd be, so that's on me). You are smart and opinionated. You can get unsuspecting adults and children to do whatever it is that you'd like them to do, using only your words. We're working on harnessing all of these powers for good.

You and I? We've been connecting more. It's not that the preschool years will be smooth sailing; it's just that I've been getting glimpses of the friendship we'll have someday when you're grown. I love laughing with you. In fact, when you think something is funny, you can't stop laughing. You and I have that in common. I really hope you and I will have a similar sense of humor.

Your Dad commented yesterday that he feels like you're constantly doing research; we'll often catch you standing quietly and staring blankly, and we can tell you're taking everything in, processing it, and filing it away for later. You like to pull out the random bits of information that you've gathered at some inopportune times, but that's another story for another time.

We see you acting out the things you observed in some of the most creative role playing I've ever witnessed. You have full conversations with imaginary characters, and can later recall things that you did with these figments in astonishing detail. You'll ask suddenly ask questions about something you noticed a week ago as if it had just happened a few minutes ago. You are one of a kind.

Something I've noticed just recently is that when we're walking, it's like your hand is a magnet drawn to mine. If my hand is by my side, yours just floats to it as if it were out of your control. Whether we're walking down the stairs, in the grocery store, or at the park, your hand finds its way up to mine. I love that.

We have bad days, too. You are very dramatic and feel things in big ways and I am very busy and often stretched too thin. Sometimes we clash, but after apologies are made, we're better for it.

I'm better because of you.

Love,

Mama

Dear Claire, Month 34-35

Dear Claire,

When people describe you, the word "expressive" is used most often.  You are THE most expressive little girl I've ever met.  When you're excited, it shows all over your face.  When you're upset, everyone knows.  As much as I hate to perpetuate the "girls are more dramatic" stereotype, there's no denying it with you.

One of my favorite things to do with you is sing.  We sing hymns together every night.  Your brothers would always sing along, but you SING LOUD!  You won't sing in front of other people, but when it's just the two of us, you don't hold back.

You're talking now.  Like, for real talking.  Not just words or phrases.  Full sentences and paragraphs.  It happened at some point this winter, and seemingly overnight.  This has increased your ability to have fun with your brothers.  Sometimes in the car, you'll just look at Ben, laugh and say, "Be funny, Ben!"  You love all of the faces and noises that he makes just to make you laugh.

When I ask you your name, you usually respond, "Sara Luke" or "Kyle Luke."  And then you laugh your head off like you've just made the most hilarious joke ever.  I'll give you a look and you'll say, "I called me Sara!" or "Your name is not Mama!  It's Claire Bear!"  You sure have perfected the art of 2-year0-old silliness.

You have developed a HUGE fear of bugs.  Something happened last weekend that set you off, and now I have trouble getting you out the door.  We searched your body for a sting, but didn't see anything. I don't know if a bug landed on you or if you just saw something that concerned you, but now, if you see so much as a gnat from 10 feet away, you're climbing up my body like a monkey up a tree and crying like you've been attacked by something much larger than you.  In the bath last night, you started screaming and I panicked for a second.  I looked over and you were huddled in a corner of the tub pointing and a piece of fuzz floating in the water that you thought was a bug.  This fear could make for a VERY long summer.

To be honest, it reminds me of how you are around dogs.  If you so much as see one (even on a leash) from a distance, you FREAK OUT.  I hate to admit that this probably all comes directly from my gene pool, because I was the same way.

When you're freaking out about bugs and dogs, it's sometimes hard for me to be patient.  I want to just say, "Stop it!  You're fine!"   But the truth is that you're not fine.  You're scared.  It's ok to be scared.  While I can't rid your life of dogs and bugs forever, I can promise that I'll hold you when you're scared and help you to overcome your fears.  I will take your fears seriously, no matter how trivial or irrational they may seem to outsiders. 

You are both a joy and a challenge, Claire Bear.  You still love cuddling with me and reading with me.  Sometimes I just sit and watch you play or pretend, in awe of the fact that you are MY daughter.  MINE.  Words can't even describe how amazing I think you are, and how much I love you.  Being your mom is a privilege and a blessing.

Love,
Mama

Dear Claire, months . . . er, 11 - 15ish

Dear Claire,

Oh darling third child . . . I love you so much.  It's been a long time since I've written a letter and I don't even know how to sum up the last four months.  Had I written monthly, every single letter would have been very different.  You've transformed from an easy going, smiles-all-the-time child to a scowling, has-her-own-opinions-and-her-own-timeline child.   You're not difficult.  Sometimes I think you are, until I remember that I'm just comparing you to how you were four months ago, and not to truly difficult children.  You've just developed an attitude.  I think it will serve you well in the future, but right now it just makes things more challenging.  You scowl at every new person you meet, simply because people laugh at you every time you do it.  Along with your attitude has come this high pitched shriek that I have nightmares about.  It's your way of being heard in a noisy house with two very active brothers,  I know.  Nonetheless, your dad and I cringe every time we see you winding up!

One thing that hasn't changed is that you still LOVE me.  You prefer me to anyone.  Even when one of your grandmas is around, you eventually make your way back to me.  I love it when we see each other for the first time when I get home from work, or when you wake up.  Today was probably my favorite.  Your dad got you up from your nap and you heard my voice in hall.  "Moooom!" you screamed.  You can mimic your brothers' way of calling me so well.  You scream "Moooooooom!" from your crib each morning and after every nap.  I don't even know that you think of it as my name as you do a way to get someone's attention.

Today, though, I heard you scream it from your room as Dad was changing your diaper.  I peeked my head around the corner into your room and then pulled back real quick.  You gasped and then gave this low, continuous chuckle that made both your Dad and I laugh.  I feel the same way about you.

The lessons I'm learning so far in 2013 revolve around expectations of relationships and, well, not to have them.  Actually, no . . . I wouldn't actually say that I'm learning this in 2013.  I would say that I'm realizing this, after 34 years of experience.  Don't place expectations on relationships, because they'll likely be unmet and you'll often walk away disappointed.

The exception to this rule is, of course, my relationship with your Dad.  My expectations of what our marriage would be like have far surpassed anything I had hoped before I met him.  I hope you'll feel the same way about your husband someday.

I know that the paragraph before last makes me sound bitter or jaded, but it isn't meant to.  I guess I'm just more aware.  Whether it's friends or family, often things just don't turn out the way you think they will.  Friendships that you are sure will be close forever drift apart, simply because of circumstances or geography.  The expectations you have of how relationships with family will play out aren't always met.  There are also acquaintances that you never really expect much of that become some of your best friends.  Had someone told me this 15 years ago, I would have scoffed, thinking that I had control over these things.  But there are some things in life that just happen.

I tell you this because I sometimes wonder what our relationship will be like 20 or 30 years from now.  Will you call me?  Will you see me as a nag?  Will you hold a grudge toward me about something that I said when you were 6, that you just can't let go of?  Will we be friends?  Will you admire me?  Will you talk to me about your classes or relationships?  It's so hard to imagine that you, for whom I make every decision now, will someday be completely independent from me.

Will we get together for lunch?  Will we live close to each other?  Will you ask for my advice?  Will you ask me not to give so much advice?  I will try not to be overbearing or worry about this too much.  But if you're reading this right now and you're 30, give me a call, will you?

Love,
Mooooom!

Dear Claire, Months 8, 9 & 10

Dear Claire,

You have become super chatty.  Some might say that makes you a lot like me.  We'll see.

The other night, I was spending some time with you before bed and you kept looking at me and saying "Daba! Daba! Daba!"  You said it with such conviction that I felt like I should know what you're saying.  My interpretation was: "I'm so tired, and I'm doing my best to stay awake so that we can chat for a while."

You've also started saying "ga ba bye" every time someone leaves or is headed toward a door.  We wonder if it's just a fluke, or if you really are saying "Go bye bye."  Or maybe you've just learned that when you say "ga ba bye" you have four people who stop,  smile and give you all of their attention.  That could be it, too.

I love our chats now, but I really look forward to our chats some day.  I love talking with your brothers and I know I'll love talking with you.  It makes me think a lot about what my relationship with you three will be like as we get older.  I picture us as good friends, but I push those expectations out of my mind almost as soon as they enter.  I've learned in my 34 years of life that expectations about how relationships will be often leave me disappointed, so I try to not to expect much. But I can hope, can't I?

Your "baby-hood" is almost over and the toddler stage is quickly approaching.  Just typing that puts a lump in my throat.  You've taken two steps on your own now, but only a few times.  Just like you have with everything else, you're taking your sweet old time.  You have just a tiny bit of hair.  Enjoy it while it lasts though . . . give the genes on our family, you'll eventually have more hair than you can handle.

All four of us are totally in love with you, Claire.  The boys take care of you so well and sometimes your dad and I just look at you and then smile at each other in disbelief over how beautiful you are.  We love you so much!

Love,


Mama

Dear Claire, Months 5, 6 & 7

Dear Claire,

It happened.  You've become the "typical third child" category with my delay in monthly letters.  If you knew how guilty this made me feel, you'd totally forgive me.  Yes, you have fewer letters than your brothers, and I'll probably take less pictures of you than I did of them, but when they've gone off to college and you're the only one living at home, getting anything you want, you'll be glad to make that trade off.



Let me remind you of an important advantage of being the youngest . . . you have four people who absolutely adore you.  In the eyes of your brothers, you can do no wrong.  They're the first to try and calm you when you cry and the first to applaud you when you do . . . well, anything.



The last three months have brought so much change that I don't even know where to begin.  You're sitting up, eating solid foods, almost-crawling, giving sloppy kisses, squealing with delight, waving 'hi' and 'bye', and babbling like crazy.  You're a different kid than you were the last time I wrote.


Something that has NOT changed is that you are HAPPY. About 92% of the time.  With the exception of evening crying when you were 6 - 12 weeks old, you've been one of the happiest babies I've ever met.  Sure you fuss sometimes and can get frustrated when your needs aren't being immediately met, but in general, your disposition is lovely.  I can't get enough of you.  I keep waiting for everything to just come crashing down and for you to become more of a challenge.  Maybe it'll be when you start crawling more.  Maybe when you hit the terrible twos.  Maybe your teenage years will be full of angst.  But for now, I'm enjoying your sweetness.



Perhaps your good nature is a result of the massive amounts of sleep you get.  You sleep 11 - 12 hours at night and then take 2 decent naps during the day.  Sometimes 3, but usually just the 2.  You fall asleep within minutes of me laying you down and you wake up all gurgley and smiley. 



I sing to you most nights, but it doesn't last very long because you like to be laid down pretty quickly.  Rocking isn't really your "thing."  I can normally only get through one verse of any given hymn.  But when I lay you down, I always end with the doxology.  As I sing the words "Praise God from whom all blessing flow" I can't help but count you as one of those blessings.  You bring us all so much joy, Claire.  And even if you wake up cranky tomorrow, or you become a defiant two year old or grow into a moody teenager . . . we'll still be delighted by you!

Love,
Mama

Dear Claire, Month 4

Dear Claire,

Do you know how much we love you?  I sometimes sit and look at you and wonder if there's any possible way you can know.  I tell you that all the time and you just smile and gurgle.  Or make a growling noise . . . you make growling noises a lot, too.  You are a delight.



It's not just your dad and I.  Your brothers love you, too.  And you love them. Jack has been successful at making you laugh more times than anyone else.  He makes crazy noises and does funny dances.  The other night, he just looked at you and you laughed.  You think he's pretty funny.  And Ben . . . he loves you, too.  He'll lay down with you and talk to you almost every time you're playing on the floor.  Every morning, he wants a "hug and tiss" from you before he eats his breakfast.  He asks all the time if he can "tuddle" with you.  You smile so big when you see him.  You're lucky to have your big brothers.



There will come a day when you test your boundaries.  You'll disobey.  You'll talk back.  We'll have to discipline you.  There will be time outs.  It's so hard to imagine right now, but I know it's coming.  I've done this before.  Even so, we'll still love you as much as we do right now.  Actually, it's because of how much we love you that we'll discipline you.

When I think about how much we love you, my thoughts naturally drift to how much God loves us.  Our love is only a fraction of his love for you.  Our delight in you is only a shadow of the delight He takes in you.   Do you know how much God loves you?



You're growing and changing every day.  Rolling over.  Laughing.  Sitting up.  You're doing fun things and you're in a fun stage.  I could write a book on that, but I'd rather just let you know how loved you are.

Love,
Mama

Dear Claire, month 3

Dear Claire,

I love to rock with you as you fall asleep. You often prefer to just be laid down when you get tired. But every so often, you'll still let me.

Don't tell your dad, but sometimes, I rock you longer than I need to. Partially because I like it. But also because there's typically chaos on the other side of your bedroom door. The kind of chaos that results from trying to get your brothers to bed for the night. On many nights, staying and rocking with you is so much more appealing than wrangling them into bed. I know that all too soon, you'll be causing that chaos at bedtime, and I want to savor the cuddle time you'll allow me while it lasts!

On those nights that you let me rock you, I sing to you. Even on the nights that you won't rock, I'll still sing one song after I lay you down. I'm not a great singer, but you don't seem to mind. I sing mostly hymns, because I suspect that bedtime lullabies might be your only exposure to those. There's a chance that you may have some of the words a little mixed up, because I'm a shaky on the lyrics when we get beyond the second verse. In a normal week we'll sing Great is Thy Faithfulness, It is Well, How Great Thou Art, Amazing Grace, And Can it Be, and a few more. We normally end with the doxology. You might not know "Jesus Loves Me" when you get to preschool, but you'll sing a mean "Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing."

You've started making your own joyful noises, with your squealing and your squeaking this month. Mostly you just have these soft coos and grunts, but every so often you'll have a run of squealing that makes us laugh. I don't remember you brothers every doing this. It must be a girl thing. We all really get a kick out of it.

You rolled over once this month. I left you on your back, went back to my desk and when I heard you fussing I turned around and saw you on your belly kind of bewildered as to how you got there. You like to roll yourself to your side, normally to see your brothers, or to find out what's going on behind you.

It's been almost a year since we found out that you were on the way. Which means a year ago, I still had no idea that you'd be here right now. Your brothers were staying with grandma and grandpa for two nights and I was incredibly emotional that entire weekend. I couldn't figure out why. When we picked them up and brought them home, they cried the entire way and I remember being so overwhelmed. I had purchased a pregnancy test on that Friday before, and I can't even remember why. I think because of all of the heartburn I was having, and because of how out of wack my emotions seemed. I didn't really think it would be positive. I just wanted to put my mind at ease.

When we got home that Sunday afternoon, I went to the bathroom while your dad made dinner for the boys. I saw the test sitting there and decided to take it. My jaw dropped when I saw the "pregnant" appear. I stumbled out to the kitchen and told your dad, and we struggled to keep our composure until after your brothers were in bed. It was one of the happiest days of my life.

I know that I've never done anything to deserve you, Claire. You're a gift. A blessing. It's my privilege to be your mom.

Love,
Mama

Dear Claire, Months 1 & 2

Dear Claire,

I've literally been thinking about what to write to you in your first letter since August 3 . . . the day that we went in for my ultrasound. I had a feeling that something was different when she began . . . but I couldn't believe that we weren't having another boy.

I was all set to have three boys, and was shocked as I saw the technician begin to type . . . "I-T-S--A--G- . . . "

All I could think was "A what? Wait . . . "Boy" doesn't start with a "G". She forgot the apostrophe in 'it's' so perhaps she just isn't that great with spelling and grammar"

But there were no typos. You are a girl. And I sat there the rest of the appointment and watched my daughter wiggle around on the screen. I loved you from the moment that I knew we were pregnant. And I loved you even more as I watched you dance while the technician measured every last bit of your anatomy.

It took some getting used to . . . the idea of having a daughter. I had trouble wrapping my mind around it, and that's when I started thinking about this letter. Would I tell you how inadequate I feel raising a girl? Would I explain that I'm afraid that we'll be completely different and even more afraid that we'll be exactly the same? I spent the next 4 1/2 months imagining what it would be like.

And then you were born. I will never forget the moment that I saw you and heard you because it was the moment that none of my fears mattered any more. The nurses wrapped you up and handed you to me and I couldn't imagine anyone else in my life. I couldn't stop crying. My heart overflowed. You were perfect and you fit perfectly. I couldn't believe that I had ever hoped for a boy. It seemed crazy.

Your Dad and I spent your first night just staring at you and marveling over how beautiful you are. Your brothers came the morning you were born and I was a little worried about how they'd react, but they both held you and showered you with kisses. You are so special to all of us.

In your short life, I've already demonstrated on several occasions that I'm not perfect and that I make mistakes. You'll figure out soon enough that I don't always parent the way I should and that, on some days, it is by the grace of God alone that I make it through the day. But I hope you'll always know that your Dad and I love you as much as we possibly can and more importantly, that there is a God who planned for you and loves you more than we ever could.

You, little girl, were meant to be.

Love,
Mama