Hello, my sweet girl.
It’s been a while since I’ve written to you like this, a huge chunk of time since I’ve even glanced at my old personal blog where your previous letters reside as I’ve ventured into this new business of doula work. I’ve missed writing to you so personally.
You’re two-and-a-half, an age I’m convinced is comprised of pure magic and emotion. You feel everything so very deeply, Cora. It’s a double-edged sword, isn’t it my love? Your joyful moments feel like they’re straight from the heavens, but the challenging ones are so hard. I have to remember that if they’re difficult for me, they must be extra difficult for you. I’m sure navigating these feelings is the most challenging thing you’ve had to do so far in your life. I’ll do my best to remember that, sweetheart. You’ve shown me so
You are still nursing, though much less now than your little sister as you grow older and venture out into the big world. You love to be close, to snuggle to sleep with your Daddy or me. I know I’ll miss these days when they’re gone, when they sleep away without notice. Sometimes I get overwhelmed, sometimes I want my space, but I hope you know I love these quiet moments with you. I love when you request my presence for a nap. I wish I could oblige you more, to curl around you as your eyelids grow heavy every time you ask.
We’ve started a new book this week, “Charlotte’s Web” by EB White, a favorite of mine. You sat still for sixteen whole pages last night, enthralled by the pretty words flowing into your ears. This brings me much joy, your affinity for language and books and soon writing. Your vocabulary is booming as you effortlessly and appropriately pronounce words like “pergola” and “disappointed” and “propeller”. You express yourself so well, your eyebrows upturned as you tell me, “I’m upset, Mama!” or “That was unkind.” We giggle sometimes at your precociousness. You affirm your space in this world, creating boundaries and upholding them in ways I’ve only read about in self-help books. You know how to say “no!” and how to tell Daddy to stop trying to make you laugh when you just need some time to be upset. And it’s pretty amazing.
We went to a music festival this weekend and you were just so incredible, dancing freely in the grass, flipping and rolling and twirling as only you know how to do. The music moves you, Cora June. You have such a rhythm about you, even the way you walk is like a drum beat. People would stop to just watch you move!
I love thinking about your future, about what you’ll choose to do with these incredible gifts of yours to honor God and others. I know you will be so wildly successful at whatever you do. And you know I’ve got your back.