sj

my baby girl is 16 months on tuesday. 16 months on the fourth of july and i've realized besides her baby book, i haven't written much about her. every day taking videos and photos and trying to remember every little detail about her personality, and her movements, and new lessons learned.

but i need more. i want to remember more. how can i not forget all the details when time moves so fast. i'm going to write as much as i can and quickly as i can before sylvie wakes up and calls for me from her bed, her hair sticking up on the top of her head and sleepy eyes.
sylvie james, you are a joy. you wake up smiling and you fall asleep smiling. last night you sang yourself to sleep while you nursed, which you are still doing fiercely and without any signs of stopping. you look at me and say "nurse. nurse, mama" and you crawl up on my lap and we snuggle together and i'll look in your eyes and ask you questions and you nod or quietly say "mmhmm".
you started walking a couple days after your first birthday. determined to be like your big brother.

brother. you called him that from the start, although now you try and say finn but it comes out as yinn. it's especially funny when you yell it.
finnegan thinks you are the funniest person. we all laugh with you. you crack us up. and you crack yourself up. the other day in the tub you were playing with a little car, pushing it around and you dropped it and yelled "boom!" and started belly laughing. you did it for the next five minutes and each time laughed harder than the last.
you are talking so much. nonstop. you understand everything we say. some of the things you say the most are:
"thank you, mama"

"love you"

"brother. yinn"

"here you go"

"i dunno"

"awwww"

"i have some, mama?"
you love to say everyone's names. you know what all the animals say. body parts. you love elmo and sesame street. you watch and sing along to the songs. clapping your hands and stomping your feet. you love music. if you hear a song a few times you sing it, and you start to sing it on the right beat and the right words.
you love to be outside. any time we have to come inside you cry. you love bike rides, chalk, bubbles, walks, the playground. we had a camp out in the driveway in our pop up. the four of us snuggled up under blankets and sleeping bags. it rained and thunderstormed all night but you slept through it. we all slept in together in the morning and woke up to sunshine and birds singing.
we went to fairport harbor for a week vacation with family and you had so much fun with your cousins. you love the water and are so independent around it. you love the sand and will play on the beach all day.
you love animals. all kinds. every time you see a bird you put her hand over your mouth and gasp. you love dogs. you bark and laugh and say "hi doggy" and wave.
you kiss. you grab our faces with your little hands, look us in the eye, and kiss. whenever you do this to your dad he almost bursts from happiness.
he loves you so much. the bond you two have is so special, and one of the things that makes me most happy in my life.  you and your dad. and you and your brother.
the two of you have been best friends since birth. there was never jealousy, there was never a division, there was never any period of hard adjustment for finnegan with you. i realize how lucky we are and how special that is.
when i was pregnant i told myself that if we were to have a boy i would be so happy. and i really believe that i would have. i prepared myself so much for having a boy that i really started to believe myself. when you were born, and the doctor said she's here, i was so excited and overwhelmed that i had to ask your dad if i was dreaming. i couldn't believe that i had a daughter.

sylvie, i wanted it to be you. i am so happy and lucky to be your mama.

dakota

one day i parade about the house, four years old, a bossy, imperious child. full of strong will and tantrums that i've almost outgrown. i'm wearing a blue and white sailor outfit. the sun is shining in through my parents bedroom. august summer, the windows are open and the room is bright. my mom's favorite mary cassatt painting above the bed. my parents come in and tell me to put my legs in front of me. they place in my arms a tiny baby. a six pound, small faced boy. my baby brother. my best friend.

i'm dramatic with him. i pretend he is my baby doll. i hold him in a pink rocking chair with my name painted on the back and pretend to play house while talking on a fake telephone. he's my real life figurine. he's growing and we sit in his crib together. he takes his first steps across our living room floor to me. i'm wearing a pink nightgown when i catch him and take him in both my arms.

one day he comes into my room in middle school and sits on my bed and tells me everything. what is going on in school. who his best friend is. which girl he has a crush on. it becomes a nightly ritual, he comes in my room and talks to me. he opens up to me. years later he comes into my room crying. his best friend is on the phone telling him about his father who just had a heart attack and died. my brother goes into my bathroom and cries. i feel the breath leave my lungs. i want to grab him and run so that we miss everything that is aimed, but i don't, and i let him break the way he needs to.

one day i wake in the middle of a sweltering summer night. i grab my brother and we drag pillow beds into my parents room and sleep on the floor in front of their bed with the window air conditioner blowing on us. we sleep like that the next few nights and when we go back to our rooms days later i still sneak in his room and sleep next to him.

one day i'm sitting at the sunday dinner table and i tell my family i'm pregnant. everybody is shocked. stunned yet thrilled. my brother hugs me in the kitchen and tells me he's so happy. he tells me it's "so awesome" and i feel his sincerity.

i give birth to my son on a hot summer day. my brother is at the hospital with a balloon. he holds my baby and they stare each other in the eyes. years later i'll give birth to my daughter who stares at my baby brother with the same fascination. like she sees more. like she already knows him.

one day my mom comes over. both of my kids are sick with the flu and she's shaking. she tells me my brother is hurt. alcohol and more and how couldn't we have known. i walk into my kitchen and throw a glass. my husband grabs my arm. i'm angry. but i'm mostly sad. he was lying. but now we all know the truth. now we can help. now we can get him back. the way he was before the job at the bar, before his sleep schedule had him in bed all day. before he moves to a bigger, wilder city and my kids only notice him from pictures.

there's debris everywhere. there's a trail of deceit and dishonesty, but there is also peace in the way we prop him up, especially just by being together.

i'm reminded of my son falling and cutting both of his knees on the pavement months before. a week later i'm bathing him in the tub and he notices the cuts have gotten smaller. "i'm healing" he says, "but its not easy, mama".