Monday, April 24, 2006

Monthly Letter to Mashuga

My Dearest Mashuga,

I can't believe how much you are growing. Today you are 3 years, 3 months and twenty days old. You're still my baby, but nearly every day you remind me what a big boy you are.

"Mom, I'm not a baby! I'm a big boy! I can do it mybelp!" you tell me as you insist on doing one more thing I used to do for you. You buckle yourself into your carseat. You get yourself dressed. You even need "private time" in the bathroom. You're needing me less and less and I have to remember to let go a little more each day.

Every once in a while you still do things that make you feel like my baby, like falling asleep in odd places in the middle of the day.

And, though I vowed that your third birthday would be your last day as a nursling, you still love your morning "gaggy". At first I was discouraged that you hadn't weaned when I wanted you to, but now that you are growing up so fast I enjoy our time together in the morning. You are warm and sleepy and I love to cuddle you while you nurse. And then when you're done you usually give me one of your biggest hugs and say, "I love you, Mommy." I feel like I'm the luckiest mama in the whole world. Of course, you've even skipped this the last two mornings and I know that time may be running out on this sweet part of our relationship.

I feel so lucky to have you. Just about 7 months ago you fell out of our kitchen window. You broke your jaw, you had a tiny skull fracture. You had to be life-flighted from here to Primary Children's Medical Center in Salt Lake City. Of course, you just enjoyed the helicopter ride and were so grateful for James and Jeff, the "really good guys" who took care of you on the way.

This was a difficult time for Mommy. I was flooded with guilt. I was worried that you might not recover fully. I was haunted with nightmares about how much worse it could have been. But it was also an amazing time for me because I got to know you so much more. You, my darling little boy, have an indomitable spirit. As I watched you go through pain and frustration, I was in constant awe at your courage, your grace, your ability to feel joyful through such a trying time. That week you showed me what you were made of. I felt humbled to be your mother.

Last week a wonderful mother I know lost her little boy because he fell out of a window. I ache for her, because I was once given a little glimpse of what she might be feeling. And I feel ever more grateful for the miracle that allowed me to keep you, alive and happy and whole. I don't know why I got to keep you and she has to deal with losing her son, but I know that I've been hugging you tighter lately. I know that I just can't take you for granted.

And how could I?!? You have been my constant companion lately. I can't even leave the room without you wailing "Mommy, you can't just leave me here!" Yesterday you climbed on my shoulders and insisted on going to the bathroom with me, jabbering the whole time. Sometimes it makes me laugh, like when you've left the room for a couple of minutes and come back to find me cuddling with Daddy. "Awwww," you say, trying not to cry. "Now Daddy habs you and I can't hab you." Sometimes it makes me crazy, like when I run into another room for no more than 2 seconds and you cry for an hour because I didn't take you with me. But mostly, I just keep reminding myself to enjoy this time with my little boy. To enjoy the fact that I'm your favorite person in the world and that you want nothing more than to be with me. Because I know that in the blink of an eye you'll be a big man with barely enough time to kiss your Mom as you rush out the door. I'll be the one wishing you'd take me along.

I just can't say enough to you, my dear. You are an enchanting little boy. You are joy incarnate. Everywhere we go you are performing, smiling, lighting up the room, lighting up other's lives.
And you know how to enjoy life better than anyone I've ever known. Every day is bubbling with bliss for you. Every happy moment is ecstasy.

And you make me laugh like nobody else can.

You are the bravest kid I know. You'll jump from anywhere, touch anything, do anything. You are utterly fearless and it scares me to death.

You even went on your first roller coaster at Disneyland this month. "Daddy, this is like a roller poaster! It really, really is!"

You are simply an amazing person. So much bigger than your little body, already ready to take on the world.

So, please forgive me if I hold on too tight. If you have to remind me a million times each day what a big boy you are. I'm simply enraptured by you, enjoying you, loving this incredible blessing of being your mother. I really am excited to see what you'll be, excited to see you fly. But, flying means you'll be flying away. For as long as I can, I want to hold you close to my heart, preserving this joyful time in our lives. Let me hold on to your innocence, your wonder and joy for just a bit longer, my darling. I still have so very much to learn from you.

With all the love my heart can hold,
Your Mama


Emily said...

what a sweet letter - and ADORABLE pictures. :)

Anonymous said...

Ohh. That one made me cry... Such a sweet letter. Sooo scary, falling out of the window! I think my youngest who is sixteen months will be so much like him! He sounds just like an older version of him. Cool but nerve racking! They will be something great someday, and we will love basking in their light! By the way, How did you figure out I was Mormon? Pretty good! We feel each other. I knew you were Mormon too... Oh another Mormon blog is "Daring Young Mom" at but you've probably already found her. I think she's pretty well known.Thanks for visiting me!

Perri said...

Heather, thanks for visiting my blog. What a scary situation when your son fell out the window. So glad it all went well.

I enjoyed reading where you're from.

I LOVE your family picture - the way it's posed, everything. So cool.