Dear Remy | Day Before Returning to Work

Hello sweet girl,

In two short days you’ll be 12 weeks old. It’s hard to fathom you’ve been with us so long Remy Ren! We’ve lived on your schedule for 12 weeks and enjoyed (nearly) every second of it. You’ve been the best baby. 

You don’t cry without reason. You don’t hate the bath. YOU SLEEP. You’ve smiled since three weeks. You’ve allowed us to haul you to Seattle a few times, on an adventurous vacation to Alaska, and to spend some time with Grandpa and Grandma in Utah. Somehow I knew you’d be a low-key baby before you were born and you’ve exceeded all of my expectations. 

Your arrival into the world wasn’t so easy. Where I thought you’d come quickly and painlessly, your entry was anything but. Due to a number of complications including my body rejecting three epidurals (and other pain medications) and a looooooong, slow delivery; things didn’t go according to plan and I didn’t feel prepared for two long days of contractions and a natural birth. Your heartrate suffered at the end (unsurprising as you and I had both been through so much!) and you were vacuumed out; a good thing as you then had trouble breathing on your own. It took a few minutes for the doctor and nurses to get you breathing on your own; there were a few scary minutes but you quickly started to respond. I cried after you were delivered both because you were here, but also because the birthing process was simply over. It was fairly traumatic for us both.

Since the very beginning, you’ve been the prettiest baby. Your features are petite and your wrists and ankles slim. Most shocking to your Dad and me was the very full, very dark head of hair you had and continue to sport. Born at 8 pounds, 8 ounces you still felt so tiny! You were almost 21 inches tall and have been quick to continue growing in height. 

Weight gain has been a different story. In the hospital you were a great eater and quickly put the weight you’d lost back on. At home was another story. You nursed the right number of times per day for extreme lengths of time (30-40 minutes per side). It wasn’t until a weigh-in at a fortunate doctor’s visit, where I feared you had thrush, that the doctor grew concerned with your weight gain. You’d slipped from the 90^th percentile at birth to the 40^th. We began seeing a lactation consultant and it was discovered you had issue withdrawing milk. My days as an exclusive pumper began. In your first three days of bottle feeding you put as much weight on as you had in your first four weeks of life! Since that time you’ve remained somewhat disinterested in food, but are gradually gaining weight. You’re long and lean.

Through a series of incredibly fortunate events, your Dad was home with us the first ten weeks of your life. The three of us have spent nearly every hour of each day together getting to know each other. We’ve had the best time! Dad has been an incredible helper; he changes the majority of your diapers and does the majority of the feedings. You two have a special bond and I love seeing it develop. 

Tomorrow I return to working full time and you’ll begin spending time at the daycare we’ve chosen. My heart is so divided. I love being with you Remy; it’s surprised me how much patience I have with you and your needs, and how natural being your mother feels. Even when it’s Dad’s turn to do something I can usually be found hovering around you both just watching. I find myself drawn to you in ways I didn’t know to be possible. And yet, there’s a need I have to do more, to use the parts of my brain that are so good at what they do. To go back to my job and provide value and function in a way that is meaningful to me—that fills me up and makes me feel good about myself. 

I don’t know what to expect from my feelings taking you to daycare tomorrow. Last week I had my first cry as I held you in my arms and imagined you being in a strangers’. I know you’ll be in good hands (we wouldn’t ever send you somewhere that wasn’t) but knowing you won’t always be someone’s first priority breaks my heart a little. “It’ll build character,” I tell myself, but still it hurts my heart. If I’m honest with myself I’m also nervous you’ll love someone more than you do me. I couldn’t handle that. 

Remy Ren, Sweetie P, Bitty, Baby Raymi – in the last 12 weeks you have stolen my heart. We spend hours of time together every day and yet I still find myself missing you when you’re napping or in bed for the night. I love singing to you, talking in a ridiculously high voice to you, and serving you. The way you hold my fingers tight and look into my eyes when you’re eating, the way you break into a smile when I get you up from your crib (even as the tears haven’t yet dried on your face), the way you still fall asleep in my arms or on my chest. The smell of your hair, the smoothness of your skin, and the beginning squeeziness of your thighs; I adore it all. 

During each phase of your development I think to myself, “it can’t get better/cuter than this.” I have thoroughly enjoyed being proven wrong time and time again.

Mama loves you sweet girl.

Dear Remy | Mother's Day

My dear, sweet baby girl –

I’m currently timing the very labor contractions that could bring you into the world this Mother’s Day. Technically you’re past due (May 6) but earlier than either your Dad or I expected. The women in my family have a history of hosting babies in favorable environments—you and your cousins feel no huge rush to leave the world and join us!

Your Dad and I are so overjoyed for you to enter the world and change our lives forever. Your conception and pregnancy have gone better than expected or planned—I found out I was pregnant one month after we decided it was time to expand our family and I’ve had the easiest pregnancy in perhaps the history of the world. (Fingers crossed your labor and delivery follow this same pattern—I’ll have to report back later.)

I knew in my heart I was pregnant with you the day before I should have had my period. Your Dad made us wait one day to take a test, but I knew you were there, you’d remain viable, and we could count on your little spirit joining our family. We took the test one hour before your aunts Kendall, Mallory, and I ran in a 200-mile relay race from Mt. Hood to the Oregon coast. How much I had to think about while spending 32-hours in a van away from your Dad and unable to tell my best friend/sisters.

We kept the news to ourselves until we had our first ultrasound at about 8.5 weeks. Dad saw your pixelated beating heart and finally believed you were a real thing! We told Grandpa, Grandma, and Mallory in the next few days and Kendall and Alaina a few days later. Everyone else we waited until 16 weeks; about a month longer than is typical. We loved having a chance to plan and dream in a vacuum; and since I wasn’t having any regular (and awful) first trimester symptoms it was easy to keep the secret.

Dad didn’t pass the Oregon State Bar exam the first time he took it. He was also called as the Ward Mission Leader and I continued to work full time (in fact, I still am! I’ve planned to work clear up until the time you join us). Plenty of things didn’t go perfectly during the time we’ve been waiting for you, but we’ve felt exceptionally blessed in so many ways that has made life manageable. Dad took the Bar again and passed; he was sworn in as an Attorney a few weeks ago, friends and my work have thrown you the sweetest baby showers and now we anxiously await your arrival. (I wish your contractions would either speed up or slow down; this waiting game is excruciating!) 

We’ve had the best 2.5 years as a couple. Dad and I have traveled, we’ve worked on the house, we’ve cheer-leaded each other through difficult school, work, and family situations. We are legitimately each other’s best friend; there’s very little—in fact nothing—we’d rather do than be together. We waited a long time to find each other and the wait has been more than worthwhile. 

It’s not unusual for either of us to say, “Babe! We’re having a baby!” Many times a day. For many months. “We’re having a baby girl!” It still feels hardly real; even as we’ve had your nursery set up and clothes, gear, and the massive other amount of purchases completed, toured daycares, and tried to decide on a name. 

We know life is going to change, but as yet our brains can’t quite fathom how much. 

Perhaps my biggest worry and unknown in welcoming you into the world is understanding that life will never be at stasis again. Dad and I know what to expect from each other, how to be together, how to communicate, and generally how one day will play out from the next. Once you breathe your first breath, we’ll have another player to add into the equation; and knowing how much you’ll grow, change, and continue to refine yourself (hopefully never stopping!) means the life we know will also continue to grow, change, and evolve. Let’s all plan to take it one day at a time, shall we?

Baby Girl, we can’t wait to meet you. To hold you and to love you. You’re going to have the best Dad. He didn’t have the happiest upbringing and is looking forward to giving you the love he never had. There are so, so many people anxious for your arrival—grandparents, aunts, cousins, and our ward family. 

I hope you’ll be patient with us. We have such little experience being parents; you’ll be our guinea pig until we can add a brother or sister for you. Just remember that we’re doing the best we can; we’re not perfect but we’re counting on all of us loving each other enough to cut the others some slack. We’ll do our best to always make you happy, but our primary job will be to teach you how to be a good person and Child of God. You probably won’t always agree with the decisions we make, and there are times you’ll think us mean, or strict, but we know the potential you have and want you to learn how to live up to it. 

We cannot wait to hold you in our arms and show you all the amazing things life has to offer.

Already I love you so,
Mom