Anthea Bee had her 15-month appointment today.

She weighs 26 pounds (90th percentile) and is 34 inches tall (off the chart).

She was so cooperative and cute at the doctor’s. She’s far ahead in both physical and mental development, which is always good to hear. She can say at least 25 words and make a bunch of animal noises and “vroom”, nod no and yes, almost run, walk backwards, stoop to pick up something and return to standing, climb on and off chairs and the sofa unaided, spin in circles in both directions, walk up and down stairs holding just my finger, use a spoon and fork correctly, throw a ball, almost use an open cup by herself, and I even spotted her do a jump off the ground with two feet while mimicking Rosemary the other day. You should see her at the playground…she does everything her big sis does and is a fearless climber.

Anthea breastfeeds about 4-6 times a day still (when she wakes, before naptime, after naptime, before bed, and once or twice in the night), which the doctor is pleased with, and she’s gotten much better at sleep. In just the past few weeks, she’s started sleeping through the night pretty consistently (until a little cold struck, boo).

Needless to say, Anthea didn’t enjoy getting two shots very much, but recovered quickly by using a face mask as a hat.

Anthea’s bedtime routine is pretty set. Each night, it is the same. Sometimes I worry that it revolves too much around me. But, without fail, I enjoy the quiet moments I spend with her at the end of our day.

We bathe the girls at 7:30. Sometimes, it’s a struggle to get them to get out of the tub, with Rosie requesting “big water” out of the faucet, and Anthea splashing up a storm, her fist balled around a bathtime Thomas the Tank Engine. And sometimes they are just ticked off at having their hair washed and it’s a pretty quick affair.

Then, I take Anthea to her room, and she smells all fresh and her hair dries fluffy and curly in a minute flat. She sits on my lap and I read to her. She loves books lately. Whereas it seems not long ago, she’d just grab and try to eat the books, she now enjoys reading. Especially “Pat the Bunny,” “Good Night Gorilla,” “Blue Hat, Green Hat,” a bunch of Mickey Mouse books from the 70s, and this one gem called, “Fruit.”

Then I zip her in her sleepsack. I can usually tell how tired she is by how much wiggling she does as I do the snaps at the top. I turn out the lights and turn on her sound machine to the rain selection (a Seattle baby from day one, no?). She snuggles up with her bunny lovey in my arms in the rocking chair to nurse.

At some point, I stand up and hold her vertically while I walk around in the dark and sing “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.” These are the best few moments. She lays fully against me, her head pressed into me like the relaxed newborn I remember so well. And when we sit back down and she’s reclined again, she claps and says “Yaaay!” It’s always nice to know my vocal talents are appreciated.

And she melts off to sleep or almost to sleep, rocking and nursing to her heart’s content. I always recall how she used to fit in so much less space. There near my heart, as usual, but now staggeringly long and changed.

I never sleep as soundly as I did in the days before I had kids. I check on them periodically at night. Every single night. To hear them breathing and kiss their heads one last time. And readjust the blankets and relocate some stuffed toys, and watch their chests rise. When does that stop? My guess is never. I remember my mother telling me once that when I was in high school, even though she was busy, she would drive by sometimes just to glance at my car in the parking lot. And if this sounded a little crazy to me as a teenager, it is now such a sweet truth. This power my children have over me astonishes and breaks and holds me in this sway.

And once everyone is out, and I do sleep, I dream in quick snapshots. Heads on chests, warmth in the dark, the stories I’ve read a thousand times on repeat, Jamberry and whatever moment was splendid today; cars in parking lots, and those little baby hands. Where are they going, I wonder. Let me witness.

You know your 2 year old is tired when…

It’s been so warm this past week, that by afternoon, it’s near-80 inside our house. To counter this, we’ve been outdoors near constantly. Swinging in our backyard, playing at the park, throwing rocks into the water and watching ferries. By the time we’ve bathed the stick of popsicles off their fingers, and scrubbed the dirt off their tiny toes, and when they fall into their beds at night they sleep soundly.

Today, on Mother’s Day, we woke up to drizzle and the windows being open meant it was a bit chilly. It felt good to hold Anthea in the rocking chair, to be warmed by her face on my skin. There is so much I’ve grown accustomed to. For thousands of times, I have breathed in the scent of their baby-shampooed hair, kissed their cheeks which seem to fade in toddler chubbiness daily, dressed them and wrangled on socks and shoes. It is easy to fall into what I have always done and forget that I will not always need to do these tasks.

To be needed is such an honor. To be theirs, moving through the universe at such a speed, is a joy. Each day, I’m gifted with their exuberance for life (and swimming pools even on not-exactly-warm days; and coolers, which apparently make excellent bobsleds).

To my own mom, who sets such an example in what it means to give and love. And my mother-in-law, who gets a gold star for raising the good man I’m married to. And to the moms I’m so lucky to know and learn from. And to the yet-to-be and future moms whose journey is just getting started. Happy Mother’s Day, all.

Feeling pretty lucky and loved tonight.

Obviously, cuz look at that cake Rosemary decorated for me.

Seriously though, I have some amazing people in my life. I came down this morning to a Star Wars table cloth, and my kids scribbling on a Dora the Explorer card. We had a fun play date and Grandma Jane and Papa Dan came to babysit while Andrew and I went out to dinner tonight. I also got some very thoughtful gifts from my in-laws and parents, and Andrew. So far, 28 is setting up to be a pretty good year!

I spoke too soon. The stomach bug was back today, with a vengeance.

But, she looks so sweet, sleeping next to her princesses that she tucked in. Even a tummy disaster can’t get her down.

Dear Rosemary,

On Sunday night, you got sick to your stomach. It was a long couple of days, and I did a lot of laundry. And I cleaned puke out of your car seat. And I wondered if maybe you picked this up when you were rolling a Barbie car all over the floor in Goodwill, or when you ate a donut that you dropped sprinkle-side down in the grocery store.

But most importantly, I really tried to make you a priority. I held your hand while you fell asleep, and sang you songs that you requested (“Hakuna Matata,” and “Winnie the Pooh,” and “Whole New World,” and on and on), and when you woke up to vomit, the first thing you yelled was “Mama!”

It still gets me. The balance of letting go and hanging on. When you’re healthy, all you do is resist my attempts to snuggle, run away when I try to put your shoes on or comb your hair, giggle and hide. And then suddenly, there is need. I’m taken back to the nights I rocked you to sleep, when you were just-new and so small you couldn’t even suck to eat. 

Now you are healthy. You woke up Tuesday morning requesting waffles and strawberries. And then more waffles and more syrup. And I crossed my fingers. I’m so thankful you aren’t sick often. That was rough enough. 

But I hope you know I am here, always, even when you aren’t puking. Life is always good. You are my proof.

Love,

Mom