So that I don’t forget…
Octopus is applepus.
Binoculars is knockers.
White fluffy dandelions are blowey blows.
Mud is muuuuuud (said in a Southern drawl worthy of your heritage).
Dancing is called singing.
Singing is done in a very soft voice, very monotone.
Your favorite blanket, Red B, is a she. You cuddle and hug her while murmuring “I love you so much, Red B”.
The toy stethoscope you got for Christmas is called your “Doctor peoples”.
You like to take my temperature with your toy “mometer”.
Nothing elicits more squeals than the slide.
You like to take paper and safety scissors and play “sciss”.
In addition to juice, you also like to drink eminade.
Your favorite place to sleep is cuddled in my arms. I hate to say no, even though I do some nights, because I know one day you will not want this closeness.
Fresh or cooked spinach is a no go, but put it into spinach dip? You will devour it.
You make friends so easily, running up to children on the playground and yelling “Hi, kid!”.
You like to wink at me during dinner, something I spent months teaching you to do. It’s our special thing. To wink and smile as we enjoy our meal.
You love touch now, something you spent so long avoiding. Your hand will seek mine. Your cheek will press against mine. Your back will press against my tummy as we cuddle.
You can dress yourself from head to toe. One morning you took off your pajamas and dressed yourself as a surprise while I was in the shower. I was so very proud.
Every day, you make me proud. You’re smart, and funny and I adore every single day with you.
One day you’ll be grown and off on a life of your own. I write these things so that when that time comes, I will remember. So that I don’t forget.
Love,
Mommy
Three
Today, my darling girl, you turned three.
There was food, and presents, and candles that you blew out not once, not twice, not three times, but at least four times. We sang happy birthday as you beamed with excitement. Your best friend Ella was here to celebrate with you. You bounced together, squirted each other with water pistols, played with all your toys, new and old.
We celebrated you today. Not just because you’re three. But because you are so special.
Today you are such a remarkably different girl than two. Three can unwrap her own presents. Three can climb the slide at the playground without fear. Three can put on her own shoes, and her own clothes. Three can speak in full sentences, when the you of two worried me about your lack of speech. Three can fully articulate what you need.
I cannot tell you how much my heart melts when you run to me, arms open wide, and say “MOMMY! I missed you!”. I cannot tell you how much my insides burst with happiness when you hug me and say “I love you Mommy”, without me telling you first.
I can’t tell you how proud I am of you when you share your toys and your snacks. I can’t tell you how I teared up today when you walked up to a strange girl on the playground, without fear and said “Come on, let’s play”.
I can’t tell you all these things because there simply aren’t words that will do my feelings justice.
I am so blessed to watch you grow into such a remarkable young girl. Even though each step forward, each new skill, takes you one step closer to independence. One step farther away from me. I want for you all the confidence and joy that is possible.
I wear these, every day:
Your name engraved on both. But they mean so much more to me than that. Every time my bracelet jingles, or I touch my necklace, I think of you and your sweet smile.
This past year has been a challenging one. You have faced it all and come through it with more grace than I have. You definitely know how to roll with the punches.
I hope your day was as joyful as mine was. Today is special to us both. it’s the day you came into the world. And it’s the day I became mommy to the most precious girl in the world.
Happy Birthday, sweet angel. I love you to the moon and back. 
How I Got My Groove Back – The Holiday Version
Last Christmas, Ava was only 18 months old. She wasn’t really into the whole lights, presents, gorge-yourself-until-you-spew aspect of the holiday. I was only mildly disappointed in her reaction to the 80 billion Christmas lights we strung up in the house. I knew her time was coming.
Fast forward a year. Ava is now 2 1/2. Every Christmas decoration we pass makes her giggle with delight. In Target, we spend a good hunk of our time just sitting in the tree section while she gazes wondrously at all the lights and exclaiming CHRISTMAS TREE over and over for the whole store to hear. It does no good to ask her to turn her volume down a bit. She’s simply too over come with excitement.
A house on our street has their yard decorations up, complete with an inflatable Charlie Brown and Snoopy, who just happen to be one of Ava’s current obsessions. I slow down each night as we near that house so that she can get a good look. Hearing the delight in her voice? Makes my heart oh, so happy.
I decided about a week ago I was going to get Ava her very own little tree. One that was pre-lit (she adores the colors of the lights). I hit up Target on Wednesday, only to discover they were sold out. Crap. I had been imagining the joy on her little face for days and I left highly disappointed. Not to be defeated, I cruised through Wal-Mart last night. Ding, ding, ding! Winner. A tree, and 4 packs of non breakable ornaments for under $30. SCORE!
I packed it all in my car, and picked up Ava. We headed home and had dinner. I kept the tree in my car, wanting to surprise her after she ate. I knew if I brought it out before dinner, my chances of getting her to actually eat anything would be worse than my chances of winning the next Power Ball.
While she played on the floor with her cars, I sneaked out to my car and brought in the tree. I de-boxed it. (If that’s not a word, it should be) I straightened out all the branches. I grabbed the video camera with one hand, and the tree with the other and headed down the hall.
That girl simply exploded with joy. I’ve never seen her so full of happiness and excitement. We plugged it in, and I opened up all the ornaments. We spent 15 minutes with her directing where they should go. Then? An hour admiring it. And saying CHRISTMAS TREE!
This morning, it was the second thing out of her mouth. When I left for work, she was sitting beside it, getting ready to direct her father on where it should be placed next in the house.
That little girl once again reminded me of what this season is about. Family. Joy. Doing something for others. She’s my family. Making her happy is all that I need. She may not remember this Christmas. But I certainly will. Thank you, baby girl. For giving me so much joy. I hope I can always give as much back to you.
Two Plus
You can put on your own shoes, without any help from me.
All bodies of water, whether they be rivers, ponds or lakes, to you, are called oceans.
You like to sit with an iPod and watch “Woogies” (Movies)
You very rarely have to be prompted to say Thank You.
You are obsessed with Alvin and the Chipmunks. You always want to cuddle for certain parts of the film.
You put your hands on your hips and sigh when something doesn’t go your way.
At the dinner table, when we are finished eating, you place your chin in your hands, look at one of us and say “So….” As if you are asking us to tell you about our day.
You love bubble baths and would spend hours in there, until the water is icy cold, if you were allowed to.
You love to play doctor and give everyone shots with your little syringe. After each shot, you always say “Sorry”.
Our current nickname for you is Silly Goose. And you often say “I’m a silly goose”.
You love to twirl. You spin round and round with your eyes pointed opposite the direction that you are traveling. It is known as Psycho Eyes.
You have a new-found love for your toy kitchen. You cook things and then place them in the fridge to cool down, just as mommy and daddy do with your food at dinner.
You no longer sleep alone, but with a menagerie of stuffed friends: Bear, Monkey, Abby, Puppy and Kitty. Pretty soon there will not be room in the bed for you!
You love having your toenails painted, or as you call it, making them pretty.
Everything has dead batteries if it doesn’t operate the way you think it should.
You hug freely and often now, the sweet girl I had hoped would be on the other side of the terrible twos shining through in small flashes.
All these things, on their own, are small things. Added up, they make up who you are and why I adore you so much.
Keep twirling, baby girl.
24 Months
Today, my little sunshine, you are two. Two years old. Twenty four months. How can it seem so long and yet seem like no time at all?
Last year you were still a baby. You took your first steps on your first birthday. Now? You run. You run everywhere, with a wiggle to your bottom and a spring in your step.
Last year you didn’t talk much. This year you are constantly saying words and I think “when did that happen?” You can open doors, and also close them. You can climb steps. You gave up the bath in favor of the shower. Unless there are bubbles involved in that bath, then all bets are off. You feed yourself, you’re starting to drink from “big girl cups”. You wear shoes that light up when you walk. Everything I do, I have a little helper now. Laundry, dishes, making the bed, sweeping the floor. You want in on all the action.
Every day I see you gain a fraction more independence. It makes me proud. It makes me sad. One day I know you won’t need my help. One day I know you will leave to start a life and a family of your own. Every moment, every discovery takes you one step farther away from me. But not from my heart. My heart will always belong to you, baby girl. You’ve had it from the moment you were put into my arms. It will remain yours till the day I die.
I adore you sweet Avacakes. Thank you for two wonderful, sweet, love filled years. Happy birthday, my love.
365
365. The number of days Maddie has been gone.
I think of her every day. I have a picture on my desk at work, courtesy of the lovely Casey, of the balloon launch after Maddie’s funeral. It’s a daily reminder to me of love, loss, and gratitude.
So much has happened in the last year. My baby has become a toddler. She walks, she runs, she climbs. She talks, she whines, she cries. Last night was one of the worst meltdowns I’ve ever seen her have. Ever. A year ago I might have thrown my hands up in desperation and simply walked away. But because I know more patience now, I have more perspective now, I didn’t walk away. I sat down with her. Tried to hold her, comfort her, help her work through it. It sucked for both of us, her because she’s frustrated and can’t communicate what she wants or needs, frustrating for me because I want to help her, but don’t know how. But I thought of Heather and Maddie, and as much as I wanted to scream, instead I counted my blessings. My girl is here for me to hold, snot, tears and all.
The last year brought about so many changes. Heather has a beautiful new baby girl named Annabel. She has the same sparkle in her eyes as Maddie. She is as loved as Maddie. Maybe more so because of Maddie. It’s a terrible burden to carry. That knowledge of losing a child. There is such a difference between thinking about the idea of losing your child and actually having it happen. Heather and Mike carry that burden daily. They’ve created a foundation in her name, Friends of Maddie. Through this foundation, Maddie’s legacy lives on, helping other families who have lived through having a baby in a NICU. Go there, now, and make a donation and make a difference. Honor Maddie today by giving to a March of Dimes team created in her memory.
The last year brought many new friends into my life. Good friends. Best friends. Something I hadn’t had in many years. Something I needed and didn’t really know how much. Had I not jumped in with both feet after Maddie’s passing, I might not have those friends. But something about her pulled me in. Made me want to help. To care. To Love.
The last year has been hard on so many people. 2009 is not a year most of us will remember fondly. It was a year of love. It was a year of loss.
It’s crazy that one little girl has had such a huge impact on a stranger’s life. While I’m sad beyond belief that Maddie has flown away to be with the angels, I’m so glad that I got to “know” her – through Heather’s blog, and the hundreds of pictures and videos that Heather and Mike have been generous enough to share.
Today I wear purple. As soon as the rain stops here we are going to be re-doing our backyard. A portion of that will be a purple rock garden. Maddie’s Garden. Ava and I will lovingly tend it together, hopefully for years to come. We’ll wear our Maddie shirts. We will grieve. We will love.
Heather and Mike, I wrap my virtual arms around you today. I send you love and the hope for peace. Maddie will never be forgotten.
Photo lovingly swiped from Heather’s blog.
Please don’t sue me, Heather. 
All in the Details – For Layla Grace
My circle of friends on twitter is in pain today. For months we’ve all been watching, waiting and praying that a little girl with cancer would beat the odds. For about the last month, we knew she was going to lose her battle. Today, a sweet little girl, not much older than my Ava has flown away to be with angels.
I chose not to follow updates from her parents. Too fresh on the heels of Maddie’s passing and dealing with Ava’s own issues, I felt it was too much for me to handle. I come off as a real asshole a lot of the time, but since having a child, I’m a big old softie when it comes to kids. I still tear up thinking about Maddie. I don’t know if that will ever change.
Many of my friends do follow Layla Grace. Through their updates, I was seeing the down hill progression anyway. Some days I would close Twitter altogether, shut down Facebook and log off. Too much. Too much pain.
Today in the course of discussing our shared grief, my friend Becky asked this question:
I started thinking about that. Why did I have to excuse myself to the restroom and lay my head on the cool wall while I cried and sobbed after hearing Layla had passed away? Why did Maddie’s passing hit me so hard? It’s not just that as a mother, I can empathize with the fear and heartache. But with blogs and Twitter, we are afforded a glimpse into the daily lives of people in a way that we’ve never experienced before. We see the big things, jobs, houses, marriages, divorces, birth, and death. But we see all the little things in between. Things that normally we would only know about someone if we knew them in real life.
We hear about how a day is spent. We read about likes and dislikes of minute things. We learn about favorite colors, hated foods. What makes someone smile. The kind of music enjoyed. The details. The details that make us all unique. The details that, when all put together, form a picture of a person that allows us to be drawn in. The details that make us feel the person we are reading about is familiar. We begin to care. We even begin to love.
So truly, is it any wonder then, that as a community we grieve so hard for people we never actually laid eyes on, never touched, never spoken to. We don’t need those things to form a bond or develop emotions.
We will all remember and grieve in our own ways. For me, writing is what I do. I examine, I process, I think.
Today I am thinking about Layla Grace and her family. I wish for peace and comfort. I pray that this is the last time I have to wish for that.
Soar high and free, Layla. Your pain and suffering on this earth are at an end. May the sun always shine on your face and you feel nothing but love and joy in the next life.
Dear Avacakes
Dear Avacakes,
Today isn’t your birthday, your half birthday or anything of the sort. However, I just felt the need to write you this letter today. You see, you are growing up and changing so fast it is hard to keep up with all that you do. I want to freeze time and I want every silly thing you do to be ingrained in my memory forever.
Last night I bought you a potty chair. It completely freaked me out. It is such a huge step forward in independence for you. I know in 15 years you will read this and your eyes will roll into the back of your head as you say “Mom!” But right now, you are still my sweet baby girl. The sweet girl who puckers her lips with a goofy half grin when asked for a kiss. You willingly come over and throw your arms around me when I ask you for a hug. Once in a great while you will do those things without prompting. And when you do? Oh, how you melt my heart.
I love the nightly routine we have somehow fallen into. We get home from Gramma’s house and fix (or unwrap) dinner. We all sit at the table, you in your big girl booster seat. At least two dozen times during dinner I will have to stop and clean your hands. Which, ahem, would not get so dirty if you would consent to using a fork or spoon a bit more often. Also, not content to drink from your own cup, Daddy will have to share his cup of water with you, him holding while you take a few gulps, sometimes ending up with an ice cube to the face in your exuberance to tip the cup back. You also find the food on my plate far more interesting that what is on your own, even when it’s the same thing.
Eventually, though, we do get done with mealtime. If it’s bath night, generally speaking, you have already taken that bath while Mommy made dinner. I enjoy the sounds of laughter and splashing as I race around the kitchen. After dinner is jammy time. You head to Mommy and Daddy’s room, where you slip into warm, soft jammies. That task completed, it’s time for the final activity of the night; a cuddle on the bed with Mommy and Daddy, with your two best blankets, of course. We settle in and watch a few minutes of your current favorite show, Caillou. You rock back and forth to the theme song, flinging your arms out wide at the end, just like Caillou does. Then you settle back, cuddled against your parent of choice for the evening and watch one story. When it’s over, we turn the television off and you grasp your blankets tightly and head down the hall to your room. You know it is night- night time. One of us picks you and cradles you in our arms. We both kiss you, whisper softly to you, instructing you to have a good night and only pleasant dreams. Sometimes I sing “You Are My Sunshine”, depending on your readiness for your bed. We put you in your crib, turn down the light and say one last “I love you” as we close your door.
Most nights you fall asleep rather quickly. All we hear is a few rustles through the monitor as you get comfortable. Some nights we hear Ava-speak. Bababa. Dadada. Yeaaaaaaah. Hiiiiiiiiii! It doesn’t last long. Soon you are sound asleep; the only sounds to be heard are the soft breaths you take.
That is a typical evening with you, Avacakes. Of course I left out the tantrum you had because you didn’t get your hand cleaned quickly enough. I didn’t mention the meltdown that ensued because I wouldn’t let you empty the fridge door shelves. I never even think about how mad you get when I won’t turn on the Veevee (TV) until after dinner. And honestly? All those things are ok. They are all part of this journey you are on. I feel so blessed to be along for it. But please don’t grow up too fast. Your mommy needs so many more hugs and kisses.
Love,
Mommy
I write here
I’ve Been Featured On:
I Guess I Don’t Suck
