Posts Tagged ‘letting go’

If you are new here, these are series of letters I started writing to my daughter before she was born. This was the first one, and this is one her Daddy wrote her. I wrote about her birth story here  and a year ago I wrote this one. I seem to write a lot about raising a bilingual and bicultural daughter and about the hardest part of motherhood . You can read the rest of the Dear Mija Letters here.

Dear Mija,

We celebrated your birthday last month and I still can’t believe you’re two. I have finally accepted that I may never actually start or finish anything that resembles a traditional baby book, so these letters will be what I hold on to for you. I write so one day you will remember what you were like and what kind of things you did, but perhaps equally important I write so I can remember what I kind of mom I am learning to be.

First, I am learning to be the kind of mom that doesn’t compare. The first year of your life I was so eager to know, Am I doing this right? So I looked to see what other moms were doing. I used their routines and parenting philosophy as my gauge. Oh, your 10 month old sleeps 12 hours straight through the night. Great, why isn’t mine? Or your kiddo can be left with loving caregivers and not scream, really? So, why can’t mine? I think I was asking the wrong questions and in turn getting answers that were not helpful. Elena, I don’t want to be the kind of mom who compares your growth and development or my choices as a mama to other moms.

This year I have been paying extra attention to you and less on what everyone else is doing. I know that you have always been active, but now I see how central it is to who you are. You get excited to climb and jump and hang on the end of our table with your feet swinging in the air. And when you get angry or upset you often need a physical response to calm down. You need a tight hug or some swaying back and forth or the natural comfort of nursing. Physical movement calms you down and I smile now, when I think about all of those days and nights bouncing you on the gray exercise ball that we kept in your room or walking with you in the ergo just so you would fall asleep. You didn’t have words to tell me, but you sure made your needs known.

I joke that it took you two years before you felt tired. Because that is just about when you started sleeping well. Right about a year ago we placed you on the floor and you slept better than you ever did in a crib, but there was still lots of bouncing and nursing and waking-ups. Now we have a small foam mattress in one corner of you room. And you nap there once a day all by yourself and sleep through the night. It’s quite amazing. Sometimes at dinner, you’ll even rub your eyes and tell me, “I’n tie.” It still shocks me that the child who took so much work just to get to sleep for two years, now tells me with two simple words that she’s tired. After a quick bath and nursing session, I lay you on your bed, wrap you up in the woven blanket that I carried you with for so many months and we pray. As soon as we say “amen” you start telling me exactly what will happen the next day. I think you’re asking me and reassuring yourself in the same breath. “Mama? Mama, close door..go downstairs…listen Lena…morning come get you in bed…open door….sticker??” Yes, sweetie, that is exactly right. Mama is going to close the door and go downstairs. I will listen to Elena in the monitor and in the morning Daddy or Mama will come get you and open the door. ” After we’ve been through that a few times, I kiss you goodnight and close the door. And you fall asleep. The magic of that is not lost on me.

Elena, you have always been physically strong, often oddly so. Like to the point where I am like, how are you able to do that? Like lift your head up as a 3-week old baby while on your tummy or hang from the monkey bars by yourself at 18 months and lift your legs straight out? But sometimes I think that your spirit is just as strong, maybe even more so than your body. I think the experts and books call this “strong-willed” or “persistent” I just say you have a quite an internal strength. It is both a wonderful thing to watch and a challenging thing to understand.

For instance, you won’t let go of my leg or let me put you down without screaming, if I you know that I am going to leave,  but if I stand next you I have watched you stand up for yourself even to other adults. And you do it, in both English and Spanish. The first time was at a birthday party for your friend Keila. You were 20 months old and wearing the cutest little yellow dress. Our friend Megan touched your back and said something like “Look at your cute dress.” I watched as you quickly reacted and motioned to me that you didn’t like it. I half-seriously told you, honey, tell her if you didn’t like that. And you turned right around and looked up at the adult standing a full 5 feet taller than you and with your arms crossed said, “Dis is Lenas.” She being the kind friend and wise mom that she is, responded, “yes, I am sorry, that is Elena’s.” I just stood there shocked and kinda proud. Where did my almost two-year old find the strength to tell an adult that you didn’t like something? We have talked to you a lot about how you’re the boss of your body, and I guess that idea really stuck.

Then you did it again a few months later at a restaurant when Nana was visiting. When our waitress came to the table to take our order, she greeted you as is quite common in Guatemala, “Hola, Nena.”  You looked at me again with that passion and distress in your eyes, “Mama, no BIG girl.” I nodded, affirming what I already knew. You did not want to be called a baby or nena. I pattered your back, You can tell her, sweetie. And with that you turned around with your head raised high and in perfect Spanish announced, “Soy nina.” 

And I smiled, yes. Yes, you are my girl. And my prayer is that you use that strength to stand up for yourself and for others. I am learning to be the kind of mom who stands next to you and encourages you to stand up for yourself.

Elena, one of my favorite things this year has been listening to how you think and remember things. It amazes me the things that you remember. One our trip to the states in April, I pulled out a bag of chocolate chips and almonds, a treat we don’t have often. You saw the bag and asked, “treat?” I gave you a few and then put it away in order to avoid melting chocolate fingers all over the airplane. In fact I put it away so well, that I forgot about the bag of almonds for the rest of our three-week trip. When I was unpacking one night back at home I found the bag at the bottom of my backpack and placed it on my desk. The next morning you saw the bag and pointed “ai-plane, ai-plane..treat?!” I couldn’t believe that you would remember something you saw once, there weeks ago. Unless of course you are like your mother, and have an extra affinity and memory for good chocolate.

Right around this time on our trip was when I started telling you stories. You were 21 months and it was the only way to pass hours in the car and eventually you’d fall asleep to the sound of my voice because I guess my stories have the kind of effect on people. But what amazes me is how well you actually listen to these stories and remember them! When I use the wrong name you correct me, “No, Mama fue Elsita. No Elsa.” Or when I tell a story about Mama and Elena taking the “green train” (which is really a shuttle) up the hill to the new playground, you correct me and say, “No, Mama white train.”

I am learning that you are watching and listening to me, and not just when I tell stories, but all the time. I have since stopped saying “Oh crap” for that very reason.

Elena your favorite things right now are babies, airplanes and beans. Maybe in that order. We got you this baby for you at Christmas time and she goes almost everywhere you do. In fact, we often “feed” your baby and sometimes you hold her up to my shirt for her to nurse and lately we’ve been bringing your baby to the bathroom to go pee-pee. Like I said she goes everywhere.

You have been fascinated with airplanes before you could even talk. I think I count it as one of your first words, right after “ma” (mas) and “agua.” Whenever you heard an airplane you would run to find us while blowing your lips together and pointing upward. Right around 15 months you started asking to look at these two books, No Jumping On The Bed and I’ll Love You Forever. You could care less about the words, but you would flip through the pages to look for the airplanes! Somehow you found a small wooden airplane that made an appearance on each page of No Jumping On The Bed. And I have read I’ll Love You Forever a hundred times and never once noticed that there are airplanes on the wallpaper. But you noticed and pointed them out each time. Elena, you are helping me pay attention and notice new things.

When went to the fair a few weeks ago you played one of the games where you got to choose any prize hanging on the wall in front of you. Even with Frozen stickers staring right out you and soft squishy teddy bears, you chose a plastic airplane as your prize. I smiled. My traveling girl, I have a feeling airplanes will always be part of your story. In your short two years of life you have flown on just shy of 20 flights. It’s no wonder you like airplanes.

If you had to live on just one food group it would be black beans, maybe a close second would be avocado and then some smoothies and Trader Joe’s Roasted Seaweed thrown into the mix. I think your food preferences represent your cultural backgrounds quite nicely. You are actually a pretty good eater, particular about how you eat, but not too picky about what. You love my soups, which makes me happy because I put all kinds of yummy vegetables in there. And my pesto pasta with broccoli (which you started eating as soon as we called them baby trees) is also one of your favorites. Much to your Daddy’s surprise you don’t really like meat. Every now and then you’ll try some fish or chicken, but you are mostly a vegetarian girl, which I can’t lie, makes me smile. You absolutely love your Mama Hiya’s pepian, which makes her heart proud. And I hope one day she’ll teach you how to make it.

Elena, you are one lucky girl to have a Daddy who loves who like he does. No one makes you laugh as much as he does. You constantly announce through your giggles, “Daddy being silly.” The two of you started going to Bagel Barn together for breakfast this year when you both were up early. You call it the “vaca” (cow) and always order “guac-cay” (guacamole), “beans” and “jugo.” And you later tell me that Daddy ordered “cafe.” I think you are becoming his favorite breakfast date probably because you are almost always ready on time.

I am learning to be the kind of mom who trusts and let’s your Daddy take care of you in his way, even when it’s different from how I do things.  I can be controlling and so often think that my way is the right way. I don’t like this part of myself. And I think I spent a lot of your first year of life expecting Daddy to do things in a certain way. And that wasn’t fair for anyone. Don’t worry your Daddy and I are always on the same team. We agree on the big stuff, but I am learning that there are some special things that you will do just with Daddy, in Daddy’s way and that is okay, even good.

Elena, you are making us better parents and better people. I feel like parenting the first time around is like starting a new sports team. You’re still figuring our which position you play best and where you need some coaching and you both spend a good deal of time just running back and forth. But I hope the next time around, one day when you have a little sister or brother, we’re going to know so much better what to expect of each other as parents and as partners.

This past year I have loved watching how you connect with people. You learned the names of your first friends and you talk about “Lucy” and “Stella” and “Baby Juni” often. You know the names of everyone on both sides of your family and you often ask me to tell you stories about your cousins, Emma and Sofi. You ask to FaceTime Bean and Bobo and Tia Stephie and you get excited when Nana and Papa call.  You ask about our friends in Coyolate, mainly “Lolo” and “Don Tomas” and “Dona Ruth” and “William.”

Mija, you are an anticipator of what’s to come and always aware of what’s currently happening. If you don’t understand why someone is laughing or why mommy swerved in the road you immediately ask, “What haaappened??” You are cautious in the pool, playful on land and could be equally content feeding your baby or climbing trees and throwing rocks. And I want to foster a love of both. You pick flowers for Mama and Daddy and also really like taking apart the screws on your toy airplane. Sometimes you even bring back screws that you find on the ground at our playground. Which I am not sure if that says more about the status of our local playground or your ingenuity and observant eye. Maybe both.

Elena, I know as a girl, you will often be praised for how you look; for you curly hair and your deep brown eyes or the cute dress that you happen to be wearing. Those things aren’t bad per se. It’s what our culture will notice first, and I do hope and pray that you develop a deep sense of  confidence to know just beautiful you are. But I am going to work so, so hard to always remind you that who you are and how you use your mind and your strength and your words matters so much more than how you look.

You have always been the kind of kiddo, where it’s a more a battle of will than a question of whether or not you are capable. My sense is this will be one of your greatest gifts and one of my biggest parenting challenges. Sometimes my first response as your mom is want to teach & train you, but every so often I remember sometimes the best thing I can do is pray for you (and myself!) Because more than anything, I hope that I can give you a tangible picture for how God loves us with a mother’s heart; loving, nurturing and guiding us.

Elena, sometimes I feel like being a mom is the best never-ending job there ever was. My sense from talking to moms with older kids, like ones who go the bathroom by themselves and even mom’s who own “kids” are adults and have their own kiddos, is that the conversations change and the needs change, but a mother’s love only grows. I don’t think a mother’s love can be static. I think it gets deeper with each passing year as the ache to hold on and remember is tethered by the growning-up and letting go. Granted you’re only two, so I have a lot more years to practice this. But I can already anticipate it. (geez, I wonder where you get that fine quality?!!)

Here’s the thing, Elena you are my first-born. My journey as a mom began with you and so many of these milestones we will learn together. In the process of loving and caring for your soul, I find my own is being changed. And for that I am grateful. So, from one strong woman to another…Elena, I love who you are becoming and I hope one day you say the same about me.

Happy 2nd birthday, Mija.

With All My Love,

Mama

I wrote this post a few months ago, but like a lot of things in my life right now, I never finished it. It seems appropriate for today as my little one sleeps upstairs, the sun is just peaking up over the side of the volcano and I’m walking out the door for another long day way.

. . .

Last week I sat at the gas station before heading out for my 90-minute commute. I live in a country where they pump your gas for you, so I had time to send a quick email to a few close friends:

“I have to work 10-hour days this week and I am leaving Elena for the whole time. It feels hard and long. Would appreciate your prayers and good thoughts for this anxious-mama. Thanks!”

I second-guessed it as I wrote it. It sounds silly. Lots of moms leave their toddlers for work or a weekend away, I rationalized to myself. This was not anything special or serious. There was no pending phone call from a doctor or serious health concern. Why am I sending this? I should just go.

I ignored the should’ves and tapped “send.”

. . .

Gerber and I live in Guatemala, where I usually work part-time at an office, 5 kilometers from our house.  I leave my 19-month-old little girl in good hands each morning and my mama’s heart rests assured that I could rush home in a moments notice if I needed to. But this felt different. I would be 90-minutes away on bumpy, dirt roads that make it impossible to speed back in the case of an emergency.

I had just stopped naptime nursing the week prior, knowing that I would be away everyday this week. I had called two local friends with cars and asked them to be on call if our sitter needed anything, you know, like a ride to the HOSPITAL?! When you live in a country without reliable ambulances and emergency rooms you think about these things.

. . .

A few hours later my phone buzzed with kind responses to my panicked email. From their living room floors and kitchens and stolen moments in the bathroom, my friends responded. They emailed, they prayed, and they checked-up on me throughout the week.  There wasn’t much they could physically do because we were separated by time zones and country lines, but somehow knowing that they were thinking of us, made me feel less alone.

In motherhood and in life, you can’t qualify or quantify feelings. What’s scary and hard for one mama, may be a breeze for another. Motherhood leaves no rooms for comparison. Just like the small humans we care for, us moms have unique personalities and different struggles. Here’s the way my mom explained it to me once, Michelle everyone needs help, we just need help with different things.

I am big believer in asking for help; from dear friends, from a therapist, from my own mom and sometimes yes, still occasionally from Google.  In no other time in my life have I felt the need to ask for help as much as in this season of motherhood. And I imagine you may feel the same way?

Is it hard? Heck, yes. Does it feel vulnerable? Always. Does it mean ignoring the voices that say, “c’mon that’s silly, no one needs helps with that?” Yep!

But the results are real. Connection. Support. Love. Wisdom.

Maybe sometimes that’s the power in asking for help; it lets someone else in. It acknowledges that I can’t do this alone; I am not super woman or super anything. I am human, I am a mom and I need help.

. . .

In case you were wondering, the week went well. My daughter did fine, I did fine and thankfully there were no trips to the emergency room.  I came home on Friday afternoon to a lovely scribbled drawing that my daughter and our babysitter did. You’ll see she asked our sitter to draw an airplane (which she loves) and her mama and dada (who I am sure she missed) and if you look very, very closely, you’ll see the mama has two little dots on her. Oh yes, those are my “chiche” (pronounced “chee-chay” in Spanish and loosely translates to “boobies”) So yes, she must have missed those as well.

In fact, I will probably send my dear friends a separate email in a few months, asking for help when I am trying to wean her.

Dear Mija-

You’re 9 months old. You love giving slobbery open mouth kisses and big smiles showcasing your two front teeth. You like grabbing zippers and pulling necklaces and turning the lights on and off. You’ve got peek-a-boo mastered, your favorite foods are black beans and apples and you can babble dah, dah, dah all day long.

As you get older, you’re probably going to realize that I struggle with control. Meaning, I like to feel in control. And the truth is right now there a lot of things I can control about your little life. For the most part, I control what you wear and where we go. I can usually make sure that you at hormone free chicken and organic eggs and that the only beverage, besides breast milk that touches your lips, is water. But deep down, I know there is so, so little I actually control.

Maybe that’s the first myth of motherhood: Admitting that I, in fact, am not in control.

Elena, there are so many factors about your life that I can’t control.

I think by nature mamas want to keep their kiddos close, like a mother duck who tucks all her ducklings under her wings. I sometimes want to scoop you up and keep you next to me forever. Which I realize sounds silly and absurd. Because I know one day, I will have to let go. That’s probably one of hardest things moms have to do. It goes against every ounce of our being.

A lot of this may not make any sense to you, at least not yet anyway. It didn’t make sense to me until I became a mom, and it was then that I realized what your Nana, my mom, must have felt.

Let me explain.

You see I think as parents we have expectations for our kids. Expectations are a funny thing. They often they lay hidden under years of prayers and piles of unspoken hopes and dreams. And sometimes you don’t even know you have them until something happens that is different than you expected.

I know for Nana, it was a bit of surprise when I told her and your Grandpa, that I wanted to take a leave of absence from work and come to Guatemala for a year. We sat around the oval table on Christmas Day when I announced my decision. They were supportive, but it was probably a little different than they were expecting.

Then half a year later when I told them I was falling in love with your Daddy, they listened, asked questions and welcomed him into our home and family. But I know it was different than they were expecting.

And then your Daddy and I got married, and your Nana and Papa were so happy for us. But I was making my home in a country and culture and language so different from theirs.

I know it was different than they expected.

Then one evening over a sushi dinner a little more than a year ago, your daddy and I told them that I was pregnant with you. They were going to become grandparents! And they were so excited, but I could sense there was also a twinge of sadness. They were going to become grandparents, but their first grand-baby was going to live far away.

Your Nana, is really wise women and she was sharing this story one weekend at church. She preached a message about how sometimes as parents we have these expectations for our kids. She shared how she realized that she had certain expectations as a mom. She naturally assumed that one day she would be a grandma. She imagined herself coming over to take you to the park and stopping by for birthdays parties and dinners together. In her expectations she imagined us maybe being a drive away, but at least a drive in the same state. I am pretty sure she never imagined me, her daughter, living in another country, another language and culture, and raising her grandchild here.

It’s different than she expected.

And you know what?

I know how your Daddy and I are choosing to live is also very different for your Mama Hilla (ee-ya). We may live in the same country, but I know for them it feels like we’re far away. Traditionally in your daddy’s town the youngest son would living with his parents and when he gets married he would bring his wife to live with them, too. You see, I’m pretty sure your abuela imagined playing with her grandkids and preparing lunch over the open fire with her son’s wife. She has never directly told me that, but your daddy has explained it to me. She probably had an expectation, and how we’re doing life is different than she expected. Sure, we go over to visit and stay and eat lunch, but when the rest of the family lives within walking distance, the fact that we get in our car to drive away only magnifies the miles.

Your grandparents on both sides love you dearly, but I know sometimes it’s hard.

The way that were doing life, where we have chosen to live and how we are choosing to raise you may look different than they expected. But maybe what I appreciate most is that they could have tried to control and manipulate us, but instead they chose to let go and trust us.

There is a lot of love involved when you really trust someone. And I think they were both able to do this because they can trust in a God who is bigger than language and culture and location.

Elena, when I hold you at night and your sweaty head rests in my arms and your little legs curl up on my lap, my heart just stops. I know you’re going to grow up. And I realize as your mom, I probably have a whole host of expectations for you. I have hopes and dreams and ideas about what school you’ll go to and who your friends will be. I probably have expectations about where you’ll live or where you’ll go to college or what career you will pursue. And then sometimes I imagine one day you’ll want to get married and you’ll become a wife and mom and I’ll become a grandmother…and then I realize I ned to stop.

These are all my expectations. I need to let go.

Sometimes I imagine what my mom must have felt like. I try to imagine how will I respond if one day you grow up and meet someone, let’s just say, from Korea or Turkey, or some foreign place where I have never been and don’t know the language. How will I support you? How will I respond if one day you fall in love and become a wife and mom far away from me? What if you life turns out different than I expect?

I swallow hard. And my heart hurts just a little.

But I try to remember that I will choose trust, over control.

And ultimately I trust a God who loves you so much more than I do.

I think part of trusting involves letting go. And I’m pretty sure it’s the hardest thing I will have to do one day.

So, sweet girl. I am sure one day I will learn how to let you go. But for now, I pray that I get to hold you tight for awhile longer.

I love you, mija!

All my love,

Mama

P.S. I may need to re-read this letter to myself in about 18 years.