Original Draft Date 5/13

I found this in my drafts and have no idea why it wasn't posted back in May. It's sweet to read while I'm snuggling the little person this was written to, though I didn't know who she was then. (Note: She's even better than I imagined.)

Dear Tiny Baby:

You're still so little and nestled (hopefully) comfortably in my belly, but you should know how often we think of you; how much you are loved already.  With your brothers, I felt like I had a good feeling of what they would be like before they arrived, but I can't really get a good read on you yet.  I have a feeling you will be our wildcard.  Maybe you are a lot like your brothers; rough and curious and wild and loving.  Maybe you are quiet and insightful, more of a watcher than a do-er.  Maybe you are boisterous and loud and full of grand ideas.  Maybe you are a lot of things, but for sure you are the missing piece to our little family puzzle. 

You don't move too much, which sometimes worries me, but I've grown used to it now.  Perhaps you are just listening to the very active world going on outside.  (You will love it; I promise.)  Sometimes, first thing in the morning, I lay really still with my hand on my belly, waiting to feel you move.  Eventually, you do, and I find myself wishing that you knew I was wanting to feel you.  Fifteen weeks to go and we're nowhere close to ready for your arrival, but we will be.  After all, what more do you need than a few basics and a family of people who love you?  In our hearts, you're already here.  I find myself referring to my four kids or buying four "treats" for your brothers, when I really just need three.  I feel like you've just been in waiting this whole time.  Waiting to join us, waiting to be a part of things, waiting for us to realize you were coming and to be loved.  Oh, you are, sweet baby. 

I have to run now. Your brothers are up and duty calls. We'll chat soon, honey. I love you. 

Mom

Mothers' Day

Mothers' Day was yesterday, and here is what I have to say about it:

It was Sunday.
It was chilly outside (from what I hear.)
It was a lavish pity party for at least a few hours.
It made me want to stay off Facebook...forever.
I had to work.
And, now that it's over, life can go on.

What did I want from Mothers' Day?  Oh, I don't know.  I would have loved breakfast or flowers; a "thanks for all you do" or a spa day or a homemade gift from the kids.  I would have loved to have spent the day with the four people I love more than anyone in the entire universe, but I didn't.  And my heart was sad about that.  And, as I saw all of your lovely photos on Facebook and Instagram, my heart grew sadder.  I wanted what you had, and that's not fair.

Because, as the day went on, I realized something:  I don't need anything for Mothers' Day.  Nothing (though, let's be fair, I still would have loved the spa day and the breakfast.)  I have the three greatest kids I could ever imagine and a husband who, though terrible at things like Mothers' Day, I know adores me and loves these kids with the same fervor that I do.  I literally have everything. 

I was 27 when Patrick was born.  Twenty-seven and I wanted a baby terribly.  I wanted a sweet, soft bundle that was fun to dress and hold and take places.  And he was all of those things...most of the time.  Then about 10% of the time.  But, still, I wanted another baby.  And yet another.  And one more.  And somewhere along the way, my concentration grew less on what I wanted and almost entirely on what the kids needed.  I stopped doing things I once loved because they didn't make sense anymore.  I started staying home almost always and even forgot some friends that I once had.  My wardrobe grew smaller and my makeup bag lighter.  My collection of hoodies and yoga pants grew larger. In a sense, I forgot who I once was.  Because somewhere between the second and third baby, I became someone else.  My purpose had nothing to do with me anymore.  Nothing.  (And, for reasons of full disclosure, that's not terribly healthy, because it should a little bit about me, but I've got the worst case of the Catholic-mom-guilt and I'm not there yet.)  But that purpose, the mother of these great kids, is who I am.  And isn't that enough?  Actually, yes, it is. 

My kids are crazy and funny and sometimes out of control.  They break things in stores (Leo) and throw tantrums (also Leo) and have no filters on their tiny little mouths (Patrick.)  But they love people and love each other and love their parents.  They use their manners and pick up their toys and listen very well.  They are handsome and loyal and more affectionate than I could have ever imagined.  And when, at the end of the day, they say, "Can you hold me, Mom?" I can almost never say no.  Because they are my everything.  So I don't really need much more. 

And, though I missed my family so very much yesterday (my own mother included), I came home to them last night and woke up to them this morning.  And I bought myself flowers.  And, when I can find the time, I get a fancy date with Adam, preceded by a little make-over at my favorite make-up store and an overnight in a hotel (my favorite...I love white linens.)  And, though it would have been nice to have spent the day with my family, I don't need someone to tell me what a good job I'm doing.  I'm not perfect.  I don't need to pretend that I am.  But I give these kids all I have to give, and in return, they give me that plus all that they are, and that's plenty.  Happy Mothers' Day to all of my friends, bra-less and shoe-less, cleaning kitchens and making lunches and doing the best thankless job in the world.  You know as well as I do that there is no other place you would rather be. 

We're blessed and we know it.