I Wrote a Children's Book!

New Year, Same Maddie

New Year, Same Maddie

Creating Maddie in the Middle

As a parent, I am always in the middle of something and need a fun, quick distraction for my busy kids. Sure you could let your child play with the germ-infused toy at the pediatrician’s office, or you could take out your phone and read them a book, that is not a YouTube video!

While suffering from some serious mommy-guilt, I decided to write something special for my middle daughter, Maddie. I wanted to incorporate another Mom, @chelemiller, in the project because Moms supporting each other is awesome!

Thank you for reading, sharing, and supporting this series! ~Jessica, Author

The Space of a Year

My baby is turning 1 today. Of all my 35 years, this has undoubtedly moved the fastest. Our children are a visual representation of time passing. Sure, we notice deeper lines in the creases next to our eyes, however I care very little about slowing my own aging process.

But I’d give anything to slow theirs.  

I am unabashedly emotional watching these girls grow up. The older they get, the more important their own autonomy becomes--which is just a fancy word for, they don’t need us as much anymore.

It tastes bitter and unfair, because I need them the exact same amount, if not more every day.

With Josephine being my third, I knew the speed at which it all would pass and I’d whisper into my brain, savor her littleness. The laundry can wait.

And it did wait.

And I would cradle her in the crook of my arm, for I knew soon she would no longer fit. I cherished her tiny ten fingers and tiny ten toes. Those moments were golden and they belonged only to her and I.

Photo credit: Brian Cutter

We thrived in the days that were worthy of thriving and survived the days that warranted survival. I made every attempt to unblur the blur that encased us. This year was was intentional as a genuine smile.

But I’m still here 365 days into her life, just as baffled at our arrival at a place we all knew was coming.

There isn’t a solution or answer, as it isn’t actually a problem. Children get older-- that’s exactly what we want them to do. They will continually outgrow all the spaces provided: cribs, clothes, car seats.

But what gives me quiet solace is I, too, was once my mother’s baby, moving too quickly for her liking through all the stages of autonomy. Today I still fit wholly in her arms, Mother Nature’s wonderfully intentional design. Because no matter what our age, we never outgrow the spaces where we need our parents to fit.

The Things We Carry

When people ask me what it’s like to have 3 daughters, I often tell them, “there are a lot of big feelings in our house.” And while I have no little boys to compare, my 4-year-old cried for 7 minutes this morning because her paper airplane didn’t have any staples in it. I relate to my daughters on many levels, but I especially empathize with how deeply they feel things.

A little while ago, I lost someone I loved very much. I was invited to witness her final days—a gift that both honored and terrified me. She had a hospice bed in her living room that no one else was able to move her to. And so, I scooped up her delicate body and I walked her to what would become her final resting place here on Earth. The weight of some moments cannot be measured.

I came home stricken with grief so thick my legs stopped working. Her life was worthy of a symphony, and all I have to compose are my words. My daughters tumbled towards me and I thought about all the life my arms encircled that day. The intimacy of this experience made me feel like I should look away from it. Like a bleeding wound beneath a firmly pressed hand, if we don’t uncover it, we won’t have to register the pain.

But I can’t.

And I won’t.

What a terrible tragedy it would be if I were to pretend that I was the same person before, as I was after.

We have all qualified for this feeling of monumental change. It is not only reserved for grief, but for the full spectrum of emotions. If you are a parent, then you’ve felt it. Because having children is bigger than we are. They will do things in their life that surpasses beyond what we can do. We can only hope that we carried them long enough to prepare them for all their big feelings.

I lay in bed with all 3 daughters resting on me and I want to absorb this tenderness; our love becomes fluid and its warmth fills and overflows. And I need to know—where do I put these feelings? They are just too big for my body. I’ve watched the physical response within my own child when their tiny body reaches its boiling point, like a teapot we see: rage, joy, sadness, kindness, frustration escaping them. Sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly. They become effervescent. I ask again, where do we put these feelings? I think we must pour the good ones back into each other and help bear the load of the rest, because it can be far too heavy to carry alone.

---