“You can make anything by writing.” ― C.S. Lewis

Posts for Ariadne’s Second Year Category

An 18-Month Letter to My Daughter

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[previously in this series…]

Dear Ariadne,

I told myself I wouldn’t have to write another letter to you until your second birthday. That seemed like a relief, at first—sometimes I am amazed at myself, managing to write a letter each month of your first year. I’m glad I did, it was worth the effort – already, once or twice, I have enjoyed going back and rereading, reminding myself what life with you was like at two months, at six, at nine. You have changed so quickly, the weeks and months fly by – and it’s nice to remember days when we just cuddled, or you sat still(!!) in my lap. But still – finding the time each month was difficult, making the effort to pull together words and phrases that remotely captured what it’s like to be your mom. I felt relieved to think I’d cut it down to once a year, a letter for each birthday.

And here we are – I’m writing you an 18 month, year-and-a-half letter.

I can’t help it! You, my darling Ari, are too fun and too silly and too loving and too precious not to take a few minutes to try and capture what life with you is like, right now. You’ve changed so much from 12 months, a year old – already, only 6 months later, I look at pictures of you from your first birthday, and think, she’s so little, her hair is so short compared to now, she’s changed so much, already!

I think I had feared, like most first-time moms, that moving out of that baby stage and into the toddler phase would mean losing some of the specialness of our bond. Having a baby is so soft and sweet and lovely – sure, messy as well, sleepless often, stressful, definitely – but cuddling your baby, knowing you the mama are the thing a baby needs most – it makes mamas feel so special and so unique and so needed, so necessary. The older you get, the more superfluous I will become, it seemed like – the less you will physically need me, maybe the less you might need me, period. It’s a silly worry, I know – I am thirty-nearly-thirty-one years old, and I still need my mama, all the time. But you are so precious to me, I always want to be your best friend.


But happily – so happily – this second year has begun so wonderfully, and has been just as fulfilling, emotionally and spiritually, as your first. Friends had told me one-year-olds are a delightful mix of baby and child, and it’s so true. You have your toddler moments, sure, you’ve learned to arch your back and go limp everywhere except your kicking little feet, you whine when you don’t immediately get your way – but for the most part, you are such a happy, joyful little girl. Every day with you is so entertaining and funny and tender and sweet.

At 18 months, you are brimming with personality. You’ve learned people think you’re funny, or cute, and you like to ham it up. You give Sylvie Ann so many kisses, and then grin at the adults. See how sweet I am? You have this bashful little grin, and you duck your head into my shoulder if I’m holding you, or press yourself into my legs if you’re standing near me. Shy, sometimes – but so sweet when you are. And among friends, family – you are a firecracker. You crawl in your little shark tent at Marmee’s and hide, and shriek when you’re spotted. You chase Ziggy and Kitty and Alice Kitty and Big Kitty Boi, out of an earnest desire to love them, pet them, play with them! You’ve followed Alice and Big Kitty Boi all over Marmee’s yard, chirruping and singing to them, trying to get close enough to touch.


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The Stomach Flu.

Just held her sleeping a while today, and it was nice.

The stomach flu is the great equalizer. It sends shivers of fear into the hearts of even the strongest among us. It doesn’t matter if you’re a college student with midterms looming or a mom of two under two or a marketing manager at a big firm – if you hear someone’s got the stomach bug, it’s an instant retreat. Hide away. Get out the Lysol, blast the Thieves oil in the diffuser. Breathe artificial air until the stomach bug has run its course and the germs are far, far away from you.

No one wants the stomach flu. You hear someone you know has the stomach flu, and suddenly, you’re calculating how many days it’s been since you last had contact with that person, or their household. Did you hug? Did you take a sip of their latte? Did you exchange big, sloppy kisses with their two-year old? Every interaction is cataloging and weighed for likelihood that you, poor fool, will be next to feel your gut bubbling and simmering in that horrible, pre-puke way.

I don’t remember the last time I personally had the stomach flu, and that’s just fine with me. I am completely, 100% aware that writing this down is inviting the Universe to shower the stomach flu on me personally, as I have just mentioned how I  am probably overdue to kneel before the porcelin throne and puke my guts up. I’ll keep you posted.

But my sweet baby girl had the stomach flu last night, and Lord, the only thing worse than having the stomach yourself is seeing your child have it. Spouse with stomach flu? Regrettable, sure. Shaun had the stomach flu back in late February, and I felt bad for him – bought him saltines and Gatorade and told him how sorry I was over and over again – but I also put him in quarantine at the other end of the house, entered and exited the room he was in with a cloud of Lysol before and after me, to make sure no one else got it.

But my Ari, sick? That was bleak. We didn’t know what was up, we didn’t suspect – Shaun headed off for his weekly lithography time at Brokenstone, I had decided Ari and I would stay home that night to try and prevent her from dipping her hands into ink and mineral spirits like she’s tried to do the last few times we went to the studio. And thank God we stayed home. I put some music on the computer, Ari wanted to snuggle up in my lap, not wholly unusual for the first hour after I’m home from work. She’s so clingy in that first hour, since I’ve been gone all day and she wants to make sure I stay within her grasp once I’m home, so I don’t disappear again. But then – she laid her little head on my chest, and we just relaxed for a few, long moments. This is nice, I thought, I never get cuddles like this anymore. Gonna soak it up.

Then – her little head reared back – I heard her make a choking noise – she’s had a runny nose for weeks now, all part of the allergies-turned croup-turned tonsillitis-turned ear infection-turned eye infection she’s been battling for weeks – I thought she was working through some snot – but no – the vomit. Ohhh, boy, the vomit.

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