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Monthly Archives: June 2013

Dear Corwin,

Your father and I are celebrating our seventh wedding anniversary today. We’re here working at the studio for the very first time, before renovations start tomorrow. I’ve put off having an office separate from home, because I really prefer being around you, but you’re growing up now and it’s time. We got a lovely narra table which got delivered today, and we brought in two white chairs from our home office. A few minutes in, Heroes by David Bowie started playing on the speakers, and we danced, and I just started sobbing on your dad’s shoulder. May has been so busy and I miss sleep, but I am just so incredibly happy, it’s overwhelming. I was a sullen child, and I struggled with depression growing up. This peace and happiness I have found in him and in you is beyond anything I have ever imagined was possible or dreamed for myself.

You ended summer school on a high note. Somewhere along the way, you learned how to sit still in class and wait for your turn. We read over a dozen books every day. You pretend read now more than ever — you do this for minutes at a time, and I try my best not to laugh at how cute you are when you’re all serious. You play with pots and pans at home, and say and sign “hot” before pretend tasting your cooking. You play with your little wooden toolbox and “fix” everything with your screwdriver, including my phone when I take pictures of you. I love that you are so imaginative. I had imaginary friends when I was younger. I’m not sure I look forward to you having some. I’ve seen too many horror movies, no thanks to your father.

A few nights ago, I played It Never Entered My Mind by Miles Davis, and your father carried you and danced with me. You listened to the song and looked at me with this look of recognition on your face, and I just knew that you remembered it from when you were in my tummy.

The past month has been a bit rough on you, when your desire and need to communicate were limited by your physical capabilities to speak, but you use more words now and I think we’re slowly getting better. The crying and screaming have significantly lessened, and my sanity thanks you. Seriously though, I could never really mind that much. Even at the height of your toddler angst, I could see you trying to keep yourself in check. Just the other day, you were sitting next to me as I was lying in bed, and you started to cry in frustration over something I don’t remember. I said it’s okay and asked you to come to me. You moved closer and rested your head on my chest, and we held each other. I saw you struggle to calm yourself, to not cry, and we stayed that way for a very long time. I found myself moved to tears. You are a beautiful little person, and I couldn’t be prouder to be your mother.