Dear Rowan, (02-21-2009)
Happy Birthday!
Today you turn 4. I know every parent says this as their child ages a year—but it is hard to believe. I can’t believe I have a 4 year old. I’ve been thinking a lot this week about the days and hours 4 years ago while we awaited your birth.
I loved being pregnant with you. It was my first time to experience all the kicks and tumbles and changes in my body from a growing life, and I reveled in it. You have told me repeatedly that you do not want to get married or have a baby…and I have reassured you that it is your choice, that no one will make you (and quite frankly, I’d rather not have you TOO eager for pregnancy..at least not anytime soon!) You said you are scared about “giving birth” because it sounds like it would hurt—even though I have gone to great lengths to make it sound like a wonderful, positive experience. I hope that someday you change your mind…and that you get to experience the mystery of pregnancy. It would be a privilege for me to witness.
You arrived a few days after your due date…and each day for over a week I took a long walk around Craighead Forest Lake in Jonesboro, hoping to help induce labor. I remember those walks in detail…I think I suspected how my life was going to change, knew the luxury of a solo 3 mile walk would soon be just that…a luxury. But mostly I remember dreaming about you. What you would look like, who you would be. Who I would be.
My labor with you was arduous. My water broke at midnight, contractions started in earnest right away, I breathed through them at home through the night…only to find out the discouraging news at the hospital 7 hours later that I was only dilated to 1. We found out much later that you were turned the wrong way…hence the prolonged labor. When it was finally time to push, you still hadn’t turned…and you got stuck behind my pubic bone. I labored and pushed for a long time…I was very focused, never lost control or concentration….but narrowly missed a c-section…also narrowly missed giving my good friend and OB-GYN a heart attack…and finally pushed you out after 3 hours. You were still sunny-side up. This resulted in a long recovery for me…and a very unusually shaped head for you. 3 hours in the birth canal facing the wrong way…you looked like a baby manatee. The day after you were born, my friend Dana showed me a picture of you in profile from immediately after you entered the world, and I emptied my bladder on the hospital floor from laughing. I’m pleased to report that your head is now quite lovely.
You are beautiful.
Our first year with you was rough. I underestimated how much a baby changes your life. I struggled not so much with your daily care—I loved (most) of that. I struggled with a lack of independence. Your dad and I struggled to define new roles and to relate to each other as parents. I didn’t like having to think so far ahead about every little detail or plan.
4 years later, I think we’ve caught our groove :) Having added Piper to our family this year, I feel much more relaxed and able to keep things in perspective….because of you. Because I know why we endure infancy. Because I know that you turned into this totally fun, cool person to be around.
(rowan at 2 months)
You have been strong-willed from the get-go. I maintain that I’d rather have a daughter who knows what she wants than one who is too easily influenced. When you get an idea…it’s hard to persuade you out of it. You have very specific ideas about what you want to wear, what you want to play with, what you want to eat. Sometimes you are a real pain in the butt!
You gave up naps on your 2nd birthday and have never looked back. You do not stop all day…and are surprisingly pleasant to be around even as the day drags on and you should be getting weary. You are constantly moving, often talking, usually asking questions, and just tenacious as all get out.
You have a good sense of humor, laugh at daddy’s silly jokes, and have even started making up your own jokes. You remember things after being told once, and will often surprise us by using a new word or concept in the correct context almost immediately. Your memory impresses us…you will frequently reminisce about some small detail of our life in Jonesboro or in the RV.
You ask the best questions. Yesterday you asked me “how does the brain think?” And of course, you want to know “why” for everything. And you don’t miss much when adults are having a conversation around you. We are learning to be careful about what we say in your presence…not so much out of protection of you, but out of avoidance of a really long explanation and a million questions!
I love to hear what you are thinking. You put ideas together and make connections between stories and concepts. Conversations with you are fun. You’re a good thinker. It bodes well for what school will be like for you.
You won’t wear jeans, you really don’t like having anything in your hair (what should I do about your hair? You are a bit of a wild child in the hair department), you have very specific requirements for shoes, you hate clothing that requires any level of layering, and just in general are very fussy about clothing and what goes on your body. We actually bought seamless socks for you this year because socks had become such a problem.
You notice the smallest changes in your environment. Smells are intense for you. Change isn’t easy. You cling to routines with tenacity: we have sung the same 3 songs (Angels We Have Heard on High, Jingle Bells, and the made-up Rowan Joy song) at bedtime (in the same order) for nearly two years…and recently added the same book (used to do a different one each night) to the nightly routine (I’m a Big Sister!) You will not budge if I suggest a different song or book.
You had been dreaming and talking about having a princess birthday party since you turned 3…and I eventually compromised with you and planned a “Princess and the Pea” party for your 4th birthday. Yesterday, all your friends arrived…dressed as princesses, princes, and a few peas. That morning, you tried on each of your dress-up princess dresses….and none of them felt right. One was too itchy, the other had sleeves that were ¾ length and you didn’t like the way it felt, the other had off-the-shoulder sleeves that wouldn’t stay in place. So you were the birthday girl at her princess party, dressed in normal clothes.
The irony of the message of “Princess and the Pea” was not lost on me! (only a princess is sensitive enough to feel a pea under 20 mattresses!)
You are a sensitive person, indeed…and I’m learning to understand you, because I am not so sensitive to my environment. You’ve helped me to understand your dad better, actually….before you came along, I never fully acknowledged the real sensitivities he has…and in turn, he constantly helps me to be more tolerant of your sensitivities. When I think back to your infancy, I wonder if some of your general discomfort had to do with your sensitive spirit. Did your clothes feel funny, was your diaper too tight, was your immature digestive system just too much to handle?
I’m enjoying seeing the positive aspects of raising a highly sensitive daughter. You are aware of your world and the people around you in a way many others are not. You make keen observations, feel things fully, and help me to stop and notice.
You love puzzles, love to read, love letters and words, love art, love moving your body (you recently mastered the hula hoop and jump rope), love baking with your Nana. You play really well by yourself…you make up games, songs, and use your imagination.
You didn’t want to turn 4. Most kids I know are eager to hit their next birthday…you were apprehensive. This morning you told daddy that you were still 3…because you didn’t “feel” different. You were expecting to feel fundamentally different when you advanced an age…and were a bit distraught to wake up and feel the same. A few days before your birthday, you broke down in tears at bedtime about growing up. “I don’t want to grow up!” you exclaimed, huge tears pooling in your eyes, “I want to stay 3 forever!” I implored you about why…and one reason you gave is that you never want to live away from me. I told you that you could live with me as long as you want (knowing full well that by the teenage years, you’ll be eager to be on your own!) At least for now, I think that the idea of staying with me forever satisfied and comforted you.
Oh, to have you with me forever! Sweet child, the thought comforted me, too.
I love you, Rowan, and always will.
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