Archive for ‘letters to a moo’

July 6, 2013

days gone by

my beautiful big boy,

i was reminded today, in yoga class of how i sang these words to you- for months as you transitioned to living a life outside (outside of me but in to our family).

i am amazed by you. you who is so deeply involved in the process of becoming versions of yourself that we have yet to meet.

while watching you, though i am so excited to meet the boy you will be, i can’t help but remember when you were small enough to fit in my neck, new enough to want to be held tight against my chest, and basic enough that you were easily soothed by the hum of my voice.

how fast it goes.

November 13, 2012


you turned three this past weekend. it’s been busy the last month, with the arrival of your brother and our world multiplying in joy and chaos and all, and i have not been able to give writing much room so, your little love letter is late.

this said, little man, i have reflected upon your birth frequently this past month and what it meant to me, us, and life in general and you can rest assured that you occupy more room in my consciousness then is probably healthy.

moo, i am no longer able to say that the day of your birth was the happiest, or the best, day of my life (rumour has it siblings don’t like that) but i can still say it was the most significant. bringing in your life was so profound and so transformative that my timeline will forever be marked by this turning point day, or night, as it were: before motherhood and since.

in the moment you were real you gave me more than i ever could have asked for and, most treasured, you gave me the gift of you. i will never forget the drama of your signals to come, the travels in fiction like conditions to all that was unknown, the way you contorted by body into a primal being, the tenderness of your scalp as you made your exit, reaching to grasp the birth of you, or the feeling of your slippery and warm body on my exhausted chest. i will never take for granted your alerting cries, the opportunity we had to lock eyes within seconds of meeting, or what magic it was when you suckled at me for more life once yours had begun.

happiest of birthdays my love. i celebrate you, as every day, but even more than usual this month. watching you become your curious little self has been an honour and a privilege. i hope you think we are doing right by you.

adoringly, your mother.

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November 9, 2011

on the night that you were born

“Why had no one told me that my body would become a battlefield, a sacrifice, a test? Why did I not know that birth was the pinnacle where women discover the courage to become mothers? But of course, there is no way to tell this or to hear it….

I wept and I yelled. I gave up all hope and I prayed. I vomited and my knees buckled. Then I began to push because there was nothing else I could do. I pushed and I pushed and I thought I would faint…

“My son”, I answered, dumbfounded, taking him into my arms.

Just as there is no warning for childbirth, there is no preparation for the sight of a first child. I studied his face, fingers, the folds in his boneless little legs, the whorls of his ears, the tiny nipples on his chest. I held my breath as he sighed, laughed when he yawned, wondered at the grasp on my thumb. I could not get my fill of looking.

There should be a song for women to sing at this moment, or a prayer to recite. But perhaps there is none because there are no words strong enough to name that moment. Like every mother since the first mother, I was overcome and I was bereft, exalted and ravaged. I had crossed over from girlhood.”

– Anita Diament, The Red Tent.

moo, i still do not have my fill of looking. watching you grow is my greatest joy. i can’t wait to see your deliciousness when you rise tomorrow, 2 years old, already. your future, and mine for you are in it, look bright my babe. on your birthday and always, i love you.

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November 1, 2011

i thought it was my time, but my time has come

dear moo,

today, on the 7th anniversary of when i didn’t die, i am happy to report that my recently negotiated deal with the universe is allowing us more of what surviving car crashes is all about, time spent living LIFE. i hope you notice, my love. it’s all for you.

love, mom.

p.s.- i’m so glad i got to meet you.

July 26, 2011

can you keep a secret?

dear moo,

my body is starting to ache a little, my body is starting to whine. my body is sending me messages moo, my body says it’s time. i want to swell like the ocean again, i want to grow a life. my head and heart can handle it now, can you my little knight? i’m ready to breathe and grunt and push, i’m ready to work till we’ve won. i’m hoping you understand my babe, you’ll always be number one.

p.s.- shhhh!