Dear Juliet,

So you probably know I'm a little obsessed with photography right now, learning everything I can, reading everything I can. Including blogs, and especially willette designs's blog. I did the Finding the Love exercises on there in February and got some amazing photos I treasure. Well, at the moment there's a challenge on there called right now, which is about capturing the random, but precious things about life. I want that so badly. I want you to be able to see these things, remember some of them, and I want to be able to do that, too.

So here's my photo I submitted this week:

It's not the sort of thing I think to photograph most of the time-- I do pumpkins and pine cones in the winter and autumn. It's spring now, time for flowers and bright colours and full bloom.

But you, my little love, found this one random pine cone in the park the other day and insisted we bring it home to show daddy. I love that-- your wonder and the beginnings of you thinking about yourself and your world in relation to other people. So we brought it home and you've kept it by your bed-- you insisted on bringing it to bed, and who was I to tell you no? Obviously, the prickly little "cone" didn't make it too long in your bed, and I can't blame you, but it's stayed right beside your bed except for the moments you bring it out to show me, daddy, Si, and anyone else, including waving it at people out the window. The way you cradle it and think it's a special treasure is wonderful. I hope you always love new things and nature like that, although I suspect (judging from the way you freak out over spiders, worms, and bits of random fluff floating in the air) that you'll be more of a city girl like your mama. I can dream, though.

Sleep tight next to your cone, my little seedling.

Love you right now,
Mummy

Dear Littles,

I'm so sorry to have neglected this so long. Life has taken over- one of you is very two with a strong temper and even stronger will. The other is growing by leaps and bounds suddenly-- close to crawling, sitting up, eating solids, and keeping me on my toes. We've had chicken pox, a holiday (yes, I took you both on an aeroplane to America on my own). I've spent more time than I can even account for cleaning and tidying and giving cuddles and snacks and trying to make sure you both have the richest experiences out of life. I hope I'm doing OK.

I feel a little daunted by the whole getting back into this, so I think maybe I'll just post a few things I'm loving at the moment and maybe a few photos to catch us up.

1. I love waking up with Simon in our bed. It's far from comfortable for me-- I end up lying on one side aching and balancing on the edge of the mattress, but I love the way you open your eyes for a second, see I'm still there and then drift back off, or grin at me once you're up for good.

2. I love Juliet's new thing of saying she "needs" stuff, like Cbeebies, Biscuits, and cuddles. What else could a person need?

3. I love that Juliet has discovered how to make a fake, cheesy smile.

4. I love that Simon is going longer between feeds (Hallelujiah!!), and love the moments in the night of sleepy nursing in the dark.

5. I love simultaneous naps.

6. I love seeing Si exploring new foods and tastes. We started with purees, mainly because we started early at the paediatrician's advice, but now you're picking things up and tasting them and chewing them and it's amazing to watch.

7. I love how you ask me for lotion, Juliet. Also that you think I can put it in your eyes.

8. I love how Juliet's saying Juliet King, Si King, Mummy King, and Daddy King. This melts me.

 

Of late, darlings, I've felt pretty happy. Busy beyond anything I can ever remember, but in a happy way. Like I'm doing something important and trying my best to enjoy every moment of it.

More to come soon.

Love,
Mummy

Dear Juliet

Dear Precious Girl,
Today I was a bit tearful sitting in the lounge with you and Simon. It was exhaustion, frustration, loneliness, feeling sorry for myself, like no one cared about me. Sometimes I just feel so "give-ed" out.
And you chose that moment to come over, pat my leg, and say, "Matter, Mummy?" and give me a cuddle and I love you so much for that. You fill my soul all the way up, and give me more to give when I'm all out.
I'm so, so, so thankful tonight that you're my daughter.

All my love and thanks,
Mummy

Dear Juliet and Simon

Dear Little Christmas Angels,

A few things I don't want you (or me, mostly) to forget about this wonderful Christmas.

Juliet, it's so easy to start listing them-- you singing Jingle Bells, you loving the "bubbles" on the tree, your red frock, your face when you saw the kitchen Santa brought. The way you say "dorry" and look everywhere for the doll you got (who is incidentally called Juliet, too, or so says the box, but I think Dorry is better.) christmas coincided with a language explosion for you this time, and every day has brought more magic. Mummy is now firmly in your lexicon, and I couldn't be happier. Little sentences are starting to appear, too, and No is your favourite word. You are challenging in the way an almost-two-year-old should be, and rewarding beyond my ability to express. Your little triumphs make me so proud and are the best gifts all year long. I didn't need to open a thing on Saturday morning, only to see you so happy, and so beautiful and so smart.

And Simon, well, baby boy, you challenge me, too, in ways I never expected. I get frustrated with the feeding and reflux situation. It brings me to tears sometimes, including on Boxing Day, but always know that it's because I can't make it better for you, even though I desperately want to. It's because I want things to be smooth and all giggles and joy, but it's far from your fault that it's not. I love seeing you change, too, seeing you grow and perhaps because of the hardships, hearing you laugh is that much sweeter, that much more of a treasure. I loved sitting with you in the dark on Christmas eve, watching the tree and listening to you drink and breathe and I felt relaxed and so, so, so thankful. So full. You were the gift this year I didn't know I wanted, but sometimes those are the very best kind (definitely so when it comes to you). You don't understand the presents, the decorations and gathering of people we love. You just know cuddles and puke and milk at the moment, I think. But you were loved. You made everyone proud, made everyone want a cuddle, and your smiles lit up the room more than any fairy lights could have.

There is a time in my past that was so dark, when I never dreamed I could feel this happy, this complete, this level of joy, but my heart nearly burst this last week, many times, with love and pride and utter elation. You two are better than anything Santa's ever put under my tree. And every day is like opening some new surprise, some new discoveries.

Already, I can't wait for next Christmas.

I love you both to the top of the wise men's star and back again,
Mummy

Dear Simon

Dear Little Man,
Sometimes I think having a reflux baby is God's way of telling me I'm not in control of everything and I don't know everything.

One day you're inconsolable, gassy, unhappy and barely sleep, the next you take a 2-hour nap and smile all day. I get disheartened about the medicine, then gain confidence in it again. I wonder if it's something else, then decide it's not.

In short, I feel helpless sometimes. I want to make it better. I want a decent night's sleep. I want the experience of having Juliet as a baby to count for something, to make me know what on earth to do.

But life's like that sometimes, unfortunately. You'll learn that soon enough. Your sister's learning it now. Things don't always go how we want them to, but we adapt, and survive and try to laugh a little along the way. I blame myself incessantly, too, but that's a whole other letter, I'm afraid.

Anyway, I hope we get you on the right track soon, because I love yuo so much and if I could, I'd take that pain and discomfort and have it myself.

I love you lots,
Your (Very tired) Mummy

Dear Juliet and Simon

My Darling Juliet and Si-Si,
Mummy is poorly. I know you know this because I can't get through a story without losing my voice completely, and I've lost count of the times I've woken you up, Simon, from a snooze in my arms with the cough that would give any smoker a run for their money.

Oh, I had loads of lovely things I've been thinking about and wanting to write to you about with Christmas around the corner. So many things that have popped into my head and promptly been blown out into a tissue, apparently.

I think the sleeplessness and the fact I can't take anything, lest it get passed along to you, little man, makes it harder to cope. but, for 99% of the day and night, I'm OK, and even happy. Mummies don't get sick days. Mummies buck up and muddle through. And I'm really proud of myself for doing just that. My new mantra is "It's just a cold." Hearing you two cough or snuffle is 100000 times worse than any physical discomfort I'm experiencing.

Yes, I feel guilty that we haven't been out sledging in the snow, or taking walks at dusk to look at the lights, and the bathroom's nastiness has been niggling at my overdeveloped sense of guilt for a while, but we're going to survive and Christmas is going to come in a few days and I know it's going to be magical and perfect no matter what. 

More to come, hopefully, soon, but for now, forgive me for being in self-preservation mode and know that healthier days aren't far off.

Love you both,
Mummy

Dear Simon

Dear Simon,
I just wanted to tell you, in case you read all of these references to the journey we had to have your sister-- you're not an oops baby. Don't ever let anyone call you that.

No, we weren't planning to have another baby so soon (or at all if you'd have asked me), but I honestly believe that God has these plans for us that we can't know about, but that bring us to where we're meant to be, and one of the things I'm meant to be is your mummy. After years ot trying to have Juliet, of being told we had less than a 5% chance of having a baby on our own without help, I was content with one child. I was thankful for her.

But long before any of that, daddy and I used to talk about the family we wanted and we said we wanted two children. I think God heard us.

When I found out I was pregnant with you, I was in shock. And I'll never forget what your dad said: "We're not that lucky-- it can't be true." It was, and we are and as soon as the shock wore off, something in me shifted and I suddenly knew that our family just wasn't complete before-- that you'd been missing, and I knew that you were meant to be. People said Juliet was our miracle baby, and she was, but so were you. How else can I explain the 95% odds against you happening?

And truthfully, I'm so glad you did. You were meant to be my son, meant to come into our family exactly when you did. That's about as far from an accident or oops as you can get.

All my love,
Mummy