My Daughter

Just a few photos I took of lovely Malynn a couple of days ago. (The boys were protesting having their pictures taken). I've been enjoying watching her develop her own personality. She tries so earnestly to communicate and I'm surprised every day by how much I do understand her. Her hair is starting to grow a little and it's curly in the back. She walks fast and is very busy. She also loves to eat, loves her binky and blankie, and loves her mom (yeay).

Before I had any children, I secretly wanted boys. Honestly, I was a little afraid of having a daughter. For one, I grew up with only boys, so feel very comfortable around them. It seems around the age of 13, girls go into this weird alternate universe where they hate their mothers. I know most come out of it after a few years, but the thought of having someone rolling their eyes at me, treating me like I was the absolute, most ridiculous person that ever walked the planet, and giving me responses like, "You just don't understand me," gives me anxiety. Boys, with all their volume and rowdiness, just seem simpler. There is something about having a daughter that I didn't expect. The way she holds her hands, the way she smiles at me, the way she sighs when she puts her head on my shoulder... her femininity makes my heart sing. There is something special between a mother and a daughter. I look at her and I just get her. My boys, as much as I love them and their energy, just bewilder me. So, I'm grateful to have her and hope that she will always want to be close to me. But I am going to start now with the brainwashing that she can't turn psycho on me. Suggestions, anyone?

Will you carry me?

A funny thing happened today. "Carry me," Ethan said again and then again. My little man Ethan who is the least likely of my three to give me any physical affection, wanted me to hold him. It wasn't because we were going somewhere, he was tired, or his feet hurt. He just wanted me to hold him for awhile. When I picked him up his three-year old body immediately took the position that he used to prefer when he was a baby- head on my shoulder, arms tucked in between his belly and my chest. It was great and I loved it immensely, but only for a moment. Then the guilt came (is this from being a mom, or is it just being me). I began wondering if Ethan wasn't getting enough attention being so closely smacked between a very demanding older brother and his baby sister. Was he not a baby long enough? Am I expecting him to behave like his brother too often? Do I not single him out enough and give him the one-on-one that he deserves. He has always been a fairly independent little soul, something that reminds me of myself. The fact escapes me sometimes that he is still very, very young. As a mom, I try to always remember to tell each of my children how much I love them every day, something that I don't think they can hear too often. "Have I told you yet today how much I love you?" I heard this countless times as a child from my own mother. I can't even think of the question without hearing her tone of voice saying it. As I grew older, I rolled my eyes and groaned, "Mom." But inside I believed her. And I always felt loved. I hope I can do as good of a job. That really is my main purpose... to teach them that they matter, that they are worth more than anything to me and to their Father in heaven, and that they are deeply, fiercely loved.
I love you, Ethan...

and whenever you need it...yes, I will carry you.