Dear Colin:

How can it be that you are five years old? I can't believe it was 5 years ago that you were placed into my arms. I still can so vividly remember so many specific details of that journey of labor and delivery and your scary birth. Even more vividly, I can remember the feelings of joy that quickly changed to sheer panic and fear when you weren't breathing and the swarm of medical personal ran into the delivery room back to pure bliss when you were finally placed in my arms. 5 years seems so long ago and such a milestone for you. 

Your dad and I are amazed daily by how intelligent you are. Reading, math and your mad memorization skills are your biggest intellectual strengths. Just before you turned 4, you started reading sight-type words. A year later, you read everything. Books, bulletin boards, standard manuals, credits on a movie. If it has words, you stop to read it. Not only are we amazed by how fluently you can read, we are actually more surprised by the actual words you read with ease. Words like technology, obedience, audience. Words like sacrifice, unnatural, disinfecting. Given the opportunity you would read most of the day. Math is another "subject" that you are getting really excited about. You love doing addition and subtraction. You love numbers, dates, knowing how far away something is. We often call you "Rainman" because you definitely have my memory. You remember everything. It's freakish how quickly and the great lengths of time you remember things.

You have taken your role of "Big Brother" very seriously and with great pride. You love showing him new things, teaching him animal sounds or new words. You are quick to tell him "no" or let me know when he's getting into trouble. You love to hug, kiss, and hold each others' hands. You love introducing your little brother and proudly share both your names and Elias' latest milestone. You clap and make a big deal when he does something special. You are his biggest cheerleader and he is yours. I hope you both always stand in each other's corner rooting each other on. Colin, I've been so impressed by how you've handled someone "stealing the spotlight." Over the past few months, Elias has commanded more of our attention and charmed it from others. You have your moments of not always wanting to share your toy immediately or getting frustrated by Elias ramming his head into yours - yet again, but for being only 4, you handled it better than most. 

                                     

It's been so amazing to watch your faith grow this year. Daddy and I jokingly refer to you as Pastor Colin. You love reading your Bibles and ask the most profound questions. The biggest joy has been watching your prayer life explode. When I think back over the year, I have seen a huge change in how you pray. We used to say "thank you prayers" and like most children, you'd say the first thing that either popped into your head or the first thing you saw. As the year progressed, we have changed to "special prayers" where we take turns saying whatever is on our heart or mind. And while there are still times where you'd pray like a 4 year old, there are times you pray way beyond your years showing your heart for others. I pray you love for God and your heart for others never diminish. 

Colin Isaac, you are such a special boy. A boy who often puts others feelings and needs above his own. You love so deeply, so openly. You are affectionate, complimentary and loving. It is my prayer that you continue to explore this wonderful world; that your mind continues to absorb and question all that enters your mind; that you never lose your joy, laughter or the ability to love others. I am so proud to be your Mom and look forward to seeing what this year has in store for you. 

Love Always,
Mommy

This post really resonated with me. I never thought I'd be that mom who can't get their kid to sleep through the night; that mom whose almost 1 year old still gets up multiple times during the night.You know the moms I totally judged when I just had Colin the kid who slept consistently through the night at 7 weeks old. Thank you, Sarah, for writing this better than I ever could and for reminding me that there will be a time where I miss these all too frequent nightly moments I share with my sweet round faced baby. 


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My youngest child is 14 months old. And she has never, not once, slept through the night. That is roughly 426 nights, straight, of broken sleep for me.

My first child slept 12 hours through the night from early infancy. My second child was a bit more of a challenge because we lived across the street from a busy urban fire station, but eventually, he, too, became a twelve-hour sleeper. We put our tinies to bed at 7 o’clock, and did not hear from them until the next morning. I waxed philosophic, contemplated writing a baby sleep book to share my wisdom.


Enter Evelynn.

Evelynn is healthy. She hardly ever cries. She has never had a bout with colic. She is happy and delightful. She is secure. She is loved. She is a good eater. She naps consistently and well.

And she does not sleep at night.

For a long time, exhausted and sick with longing for my bed, I tried every trick and tactic to help her sleep through the night. I grappled with my ideals, finally tried out the things I always swore I would never allow, but nothing ever worked. She was up, every hour or two, every night, every night, every night.

This was what she needed, clearly, and so I began to wonder, after several months, if maybe, just maybe, God had something here, for me, too? Grace of God, will you be here for me in this? I asked for wisdom, I asked for help, I cried, I begged, I wondered, I read, and then, in the stillness of one long night of nursing, I heard the Spirit of the living God say to me, let her be, and minister Love to her small soul, and this will be our time, too, Sarah. So I found it easier to roll out of bed, head to her tiny room, nurse her, rock her, hold her, over and over and over again.

I started to pray in those moments. I started to hold the big things of the world and the little things of my home up for God to notice. I started to sing old songs from church. I started to rock until we were both half-asleep. I started to sit in the silence, quiet, waiting, even after she drifted off in my arms. I started to find my energy. I started to be okay with it. I started to find God in the stillness, in the darkness, in the giving, in the exhaustion. It was good. It was sacred. And, yes, it was everyday.

I remember one night this past winter, I stood in the middle of my living room, alone, in the wee small hours. The cold house was lit with stars and street lights. I couldn’t go back to bed, it was so quiet, so still, so other-worldly. I was brimming with something like wonder in the loneliness of the night, I could see the stars, something in me wanted to stay there, awake with all the mothers-hearts, up in the small hours, I felt them. I remembered a phrase from the Common Prayers, that I was with those who wait and watch and weep in the night. A thin connection was there, I felt a holy sorrow and knowing, an enveloping love, I felt held and I felt like I was holding, I was breathing in the Holy Spirit, cold and bright and enough. Two hours later, I wasn’t so sanguine. I was tired, I just wanted to sleep for two hours together, I was muttering and resentful. But as I lifted her, whimpering and longing and alone, again, she exhaled with relief, and she fell asleep minutes later, milk-drunk and peaceful. And I wondered if I was writing a story with my life in these nights, because if I was, then this would be the chapter of metaphors.

At 14 months of age, just this past week or so, she began to sleep most of the night. She still wakes up once, maybe twice, a night. The first few nights that she slept for 6 hours straight, I woke up frequently, panicked, rushing to her room. But she slept, peaceful, and I found I was disappointed.  I missed her. I missed the quiet. I missed the stillness. I missed the prayer. I missed the worship. I missed those hours of communion. I missed the weight of her need in my arms, I missed being able to minister peace and rest. Just like that, it was over, this stage was over, she was sleeping. I went back to bed. 

We've had alot of changes in the past few weeks. We've turned 4. We've started crawling. We've stolen candy from the store. We've pulled ourselves up to a standing position. We've continued reading words and books. We've started transitioning from the Infant Room to the Wobbler Room; a room with kids who are walking and eating real food.

I'm a proud Momma (minus the stealing part) but sure wish her babies would slow down. They are growing up way too fast!

"His fingers

are so tiny,

so marvelously perfect.

Soon they will

reach out to touch

the smiling faces

of everyone around him...

These little hands

will explore, discover,

and bring the world to him

for his inspection and delight.

With these hands he will throw balls,

capture bugs, and build castles in the sand.

He will use them to open books

and unlock the doors of knowledge.

These are the hands

that may someday sculpt, make music,

or cuddle children of his own.

His hands

are so tiny now,

and yet within them lie the future

and the fulfillment

of all his precious dreams.

So hold him gently

and watch with pride

as he reaches out in love and joy

to all of life. "

I tear up everytime I read this card - just thinking about what beautiful things Elias is going to do with his tiny fingers one day. Someday he'll do more than just hold my finger. I can't wait to see the wonderful things he will do!