I found this photo today from when Everly was just 4 days old. We’re less than a week from her being 4 months old now and today, she looks like this:
I can hardly believe that she’ll be 4 or 14 someday.
This morning she bonked her head (okay, I bonked her head) and she cried – the immediate loud cries that break your heart. I picked her up and walked her around the house holding her for a few minutes until the hurt went away.
Later, I texted with a student who is feeling betrayed by her friends. I’m not with her, but from her texts, I imagine she’s crying the same hurt tears, but no amount of holding and walking will feel like enough.
We’re trying to love each season for what it is and I am thankful that tears, for now, can be remedied with clean diapers, food, rest, and snuggles.
You are such a sweet little baby. Today you were so fussy all afternoon, but right now we’re listening to Spotify while you eat and I’m thinking about the last week of your life.
We went to camp – a 6 hour car ride away – 5 days of crazy, loud, no routine days. Your Uncle Brian put you to bed each night in a hotel room while your mom finished her responsibilities and your dad cared for 30 seventh grade boys. You rode in a pack all day or got passed to students (carefully!) and basically had people in your face 24/7.
Then we took our first flight together to Portland for your Aunt Morgan and Uncle Sam’s wedding. Another no schedule, new place, more people few days.
Of course, now that we’re home, all your regular sitters are out of town so off to work I hauled you. All week long. Another no schedule, not at home nap.
You’re exhausted, but you still give out your sweet, toothless smiles and talk to anyone who wants to talk to you.
We prayed for you and you have been such a gift. So beyond what we could have ever asked or imagined. I love your snuggly smallness even though we have dragged you to the ends of the world.
I love you, little girl.
We did it. We survived a week of camp with a 3 month old, our first flight, and 4th wedding all in one week and are only a little worse for the wear.
Camp meant no feeding room and relatively little privacy so I thought this would be a humorous little list.
Here are places I fed you this week:
– a plane seat – both the aisle and the middle seat
– a rock in front of the dining hall while a bunch of random students sauntered to lunch
– in a wheelchair in the nurse’s office while random students wandered in looking for lost and found items
– the corner of the back stage area, surrounded by semi-inflated bubble bumps while students rolled back the inflated ones
– picnic table bench next to the grandma of the groom and some other random stranger who showed up too early for the wedding
– Burgerville (because we’re making all sorts of compromises on food right now)
– floor of gate C13 in the Portland airport
Your second month was a big one. You hold up your head and roll over. You want to crawl so badly! You still have all your hair and have grown out of almost all of your newborn things. You had your first little virus and your mom felt like a mama bear for the first time.
It was an early start to your 3rd month. It’s been the busiest couple of weeks for your dad and me and you have slept the worst.
Last night, though, your terrible sleep had me awake at just the right time. You see, little girl, you’re at camp. In New Mexico. With 300 kids. One of this kids needed help at 1:44am. Exactly when you were finishing your late night snack.
It’s the first night of 4 here, and I’d be lying if I wasn’t counting them all down. We have no idea what we’re doing and this week is reminding us how much we need God. As I texted with the mom of the student who needed something in the wee hours of the morning, I realized I’ll need faith no matter how you turn out or what age you are.
And I don’t mean the generic “I need faith” sort of thing. I mean the, “I’m drowning and it’s my only lifeline” sort of faith. Whether you’re a great kid with a disease or a tough kid who makes bold, bad decisions, or just a 3 month old at a summer camp, we’d all be lost without Jesus. It’s the only thing keeping us above the waves.
You are such a good baby. I love you with my whole heart, Everly Alice.