Dear Little Shoes,

You were almost too cute to get out of the box, a perfectly vibrant combo of stripes and florals. You looked so big I thought you would never fit her. But then she grew, and then you did.

For one month, one month(!!) she traipsed around with you on her feet, to the park, the mountains, the playground, and home. You have gotten so dirty that I have had to scrub you with detergent till your colors have worn thin.

She didn't just wear you, she wore you out.

And I can't bear to part with you, so I will carefully pack you away in a keepsake box, a perfect reminder of the little miss you served. A girl who lives fierce, all-in, no-holds-barred. A girl who makes messes out of ordinary food and days in ways I have never seen before. She has no qualms about having muddy shoes, matted hair, and a messy face. Sorry for your sake, but you were just a means to an end, a necessary protection so she could climb that mountain, dig in that gravel, and splash in that puddle. 

As I pack you up, I smile at how far I've come as a momma of a mess-maker. I am learning to embrace the beauty of messes (let's be honest, better to laugh then to cry!) and the incredibly complex, lovely little girl who makes most of them.

Sure, I wish she could keep a pair of shoes presentable for more than a month or so, but then, what fun would that be?

Shoe shopping is the best!

Dear Brooke,

Sweetheart,

I watched you play with your brother today, tumbling around in the mass of pillows that he constructed into his "castle". You giggled and shrieked, and occasionally looked back at me to make sure I was still there, eyes fixed on you.

I couldn't help but smile. You are beautiful. You are full of life. And you are growing up. Not just the average growth... dots on a line chart, weight on the rise, height ever increasing... but heart and soul growth. Maturity in your eyes. A deeper level of understanding and reasoning in your actions. You are rounding the bend to your sixteenth month, and these last few weeks have been our best yet.

You and I both know that this past year has been a challenge. Both of us stubborn, both of us independent, both of us needing grace. You are so much like me in so many ways, and yet so much your own lady too. I knew the moment our eyes met in the quaint birth center room the morning after your birth, that our relationship would stretch me. My world tilted, in the direction of a crying little one who needed me more than I knew how to be needed.

I knew a few emotions that day. Deep love. Fierce protection. Intense fear. I embarked on a series of sleepless nights, long days, and lots of prayers. I wrestled with the fact that I couldn't make you happy... you screamed and cried when you wanted too, and cooed and giggled when you felt like it. You were deeply affectionate some days, and didn't want to be touched the next. A strange paradox of independence and need. I didn't understand you in the least, and I knew you didn't understand yourself either. It was like we both spoke a different language and couldn't find a translator.

So we pushed through it together... through good days and not so good... we were content to let our love for one another bloom despite the challenges. We chose one another and started to form a third language together, one founded on respect and admission of our own shortcomings.

And something recently shifted, our world started to right itself again, and my days have begun to not be governed by when you are napping and awake, happy or sad. I can get laundry folded and get dishes washed, in the same morning! You entertain yourself for longer bits of time, and you delight in your big brother now, something that a few months ago seemed unattainable! You plod around the house, proud of yourself and your sturdy set of legs, your sense of humor and your increasing vocabulary. You make me laugh and your eyes dance at the thought of it. I smother you in hugs and kisses and you lean in for more.

And if you wonder why I am writing all this down... confessions of challenging days and difficult love...

it is because babe, I want you to know that you are so worth fighting for. You are worth every hard day, every sleepless night, every tear-filled encounter. You are worth getting to know, observing, loving.

You are lovely.

You are precious.

You are fearfully and wonderfully made.

Don't forget this, little one.

You are worth it because you are a creation of the Most High God, crafted in His likeness. Just think of it, you are royalty!

Walking through these last fifteen months with you has been so so much more than a challenge, it has been a privilege, an honor, a joy.

It is said that the best things in life are worth fighting for, and I couldn't agree more. When it comes to you and I, our relationship has been tested and refined, and made stronger for it.

I love you.

Love,
Your Momma

Dear Brooke,

Yesterday you did it, babe!

You walked from the far side of the kitchen to the front door without help or tumbling. Fueled by the sound of daddy's voice encouraging you... you flung yourself into his arms when you reached him, beaming from ear to ear.

Great job, love, we are so proud of you!

Dear Brooke,

On your birthday (was that really two months ago?) we positioned you snugly up against your brother in the little orange bike trailer that gets you around. We put on our helmets (yours covers your eyes, you hate it) and hi-tailed it into town. Passing the park where we played the night before we met you, I was overwhelmed with the sentimental notion that we sat and ate our pizza that same evening, one year ago, not knowing you were soon to arrive. Not knowing you were a sweet girl. Not knowing your name, and not knowing the ways you would change our lives forever.

I saw these simple landmarks, hardly changed in one year's time, and thought of you, sweetheart, and the tremendous blessing that you are. I am so thankful for the familiar sights that grace our days... the park, the pizza shop, the sidewalk blocks we walked, hoping to induce labor that night. A constant reminder of our anticipation, and your arrival.

We took you to the little corner shop downtown where the pizza is carefully crafted and baked in a big dome oven. Hunter and I watched as the man with the apron carefully rolled the dough and layered it with fresh mozzarella and sauce before sliding it in the oven with a long-handled peel. Sixty seconds later we had a perfectly toasted crust. What a difference a year makes! Last year it was me who ate the most pizza, this night it was you who polished off the tray!

We all joke that you need to be hosed off at the end of every meal, and this night was no exception. Your dad and I used to try to keep you neat... a bib here, napkin there... but you just won't have it! Sauce in your hair, plate upside down, and cup on the floor (across the room?) is how you prefer to end a meal. I am starting to take it as a compliment that you liked what you were eating.

After dinner found us at the little ice cream parlor on Main Street with the park benches out front. It's the only place in town that writes an I-owe-you on a napkin if you forget the cash to pay. The ice cream is delicious, the atmosphere endearing. You love it. Your little mouth curves into an "o" when eating ice cream... like a little bird searching for the next bite. You lean in towards the cone that is supposed to be shared, mischievously grinning when we catch your eye. You are irresistible.

We rode home that night, eyes closed, your head bobbing side-to-side by the time we reached the driveway. We put you to bed, our eyes lingering over your room a little longer than usual, memories on our minds. We reminisced and congratulated one another on a year well lived... a year of laughter and smiles, a year of throwing food and tantrums, and days full of magic and meltdowns... you've had them all.

We wouldn't change a thing.

We love you.