a letter to my daughter
counting down the days
My dearest Azalea Bloom, my Wild Little Goose,
Just a few more weeks till you’re here. Maybe as soon as 3 or 4, maybe as many as 6?
It feels like an eternity and a moment.
You’ll bloom in June, at the beginning of the summer. It will be a world of sunshine and heat. You’ll bat your lashes at the brightness and wrinkle your brow, concerned and confused after the dark of the womb.
But you needn’t worry - I’ll be with you. I will teach you to love the sunshine, and how to stay cool in the summer heat.
Frans Everbag. (n.d.) Azalea Flowers in a Chinese Vase.
the people waiting for you
Let me tell you about the people, who are waiting with bated breath, who already love you, who will inhabit your world.
I wish I could say there will be a kindly male face, a voice you’d recognize, a touch that would be second only to mine. But there won’t be, not like that. You won’t understand or even grieve the absence. But I will for you. I will know that someone should have kissed your tiny forehead, still damp and squished, his breath tickling you, making you sneeze your very first sneeze.
But oh my darling - let me tell you about the people you will meet.
First- there’s your brother. He will love you and defend you and protect you and frustrate you and cherish you. You two will forever be into mischief and marvels. You will want to follow him everywhere, adoring him for all the things he can do that you will want to do. There will also be times when you look at me, bewildered by his boy-ness and the two of us will just exchange a look and shrug. Boys are strange creatures, my love.
Then there’s your uncle. You will have him wrapped around your tiny finger from birth. You will frighten him at the beginning, when you are small and fragile and pink. But he will love you always and forever, his little wildflower niece. He will show you all the wild things of the world.
Your grandmother, who goes by GranCee. She’ll be the first bit of family you’ll meet. She will wrap you up in ribbons and lace and bows. She will kiss your fingers and count your toes. You will come to know and love her voice because she will pray over you and sing over you.
There is Pa, your step-grandfather, who we’ll just treat as your grandpa. He’s the only one you’ve got. He already wants few things as much as to protect you, and he is the worst one of us all for buying you clothes.
And Auntie R. She is the sister of my soul. She loves you so very much. You will grow up with her son, only six months your senior. The two of you will probably go on adventures that drive aunt R and uncle M and me to insanity with your antics. You’ll be the instigator, the chaos maker. They’ll be the calm.
That’s your family, my dearest little one. It is small, but overflowing with love.
Let me tell you about the other people you’ll meet, not quite family, but close. Our church, who has been praying over you since the moment they knew you existed. The first male hands to bless you will belong to the priests, and their blessings will mean something. You’ll hear the rhythms of prayer each week. In the coming months, they’ll baptize you in water, mark you as Christ’s own. There are women, who are so very kind, who are all eager to meet you, who will want to hold you even when you cry. Some will be grandmothers, others your aunts, and a few your big sisters. You will probably be fought over, everyone wanting to be the first to make you smile. There are other men, who might be a bit more reserved, but who are quietly eager to meet you, whose hearts will melt when they hear you coo.
There is an inner circle of dear friends, women I’ve known for decades now. They have prayed for you, and loved you. Even the ones not geographically near, are near to us in heart. One of these dear ones knew you were coming, and even knew you were a girl, before I did. She loved you from the moment I said that I would never have a daughter, and God showed her that I already had one. One of these dear ones, on one of our bleakest first trimester days, sent a tender text and a link to a lullaby. It was the sweetest moment of that week. Two of these dear ones have offered to come stay with us, in those first few weeks after you arrive.
There is that circle of friends from graduate school. The ones who quietly ignored my frequent use of your name even though I said I wouldn’t announce it till later. (They were kind of enough to pretend that I didn’t drop it approximately seventeen times in the group text thread - a reality I was blissfully ignorant of thanks to pregnancy brain and insomnia.) They are more excited for your arrival than four year old girls are to meet a Disney Princess. They have crocheted and crafted and created for you.
Azalea Bloom - you are wanted and loved. Our world may be small, but it is buzzing with excitement to meet you.
all the people you will love
I have heard it said - that at any moment - you haven’t met all the people you will love, or all the people who will love you.
As I think about your life unfolding, I know that’s true. I know you will love so many more, and you will be loved by so many more.
Every night, after story time and prayers, I tuck your brother into bed, give him kisses, and whisper, “You are safe, you are wanted, you are loved.”
Azalea Bloom - You are safe. You are wanted. You are loved.
You will grow up in a world, not free of hardships or trials, but full of love. I think you will have an incredible capacity for love, for receiving it and giving it.
my love
I love you my little one.
There are moments it feels like the sweetest sadness. I feel unworthy to hold you, frightened that my past will taint your future. Yet- I can’t help the ache I have to hold you, to sing to you, to kiss your fingers, to nurse you from my breasts. It is a raw sweet sadness. It tastes like wild honey and cider vinegar.
If you come right around your due date, you could come at Pentecost. I feel like Pentecost would be appropriate, as you are the daughter of a linguist, though I suppose our coming home outfits would need to be red. You could also come on Trinity Sunday, a Sunday where we affirm the mystery of God and our belief in his triune nature. It could also be a sweet nod to how we are now a little family of three - you, Little Man, and me.
I suppose you could come on another day, a random one. One without a feast or saint or such to make it as distinct. But it would be distinct because you were born on it.
I know you so little and so much. I know you’re my little artist, your movements so dance like and steady, such a difference from the wild, forceful movements of your brother. I feel you bend, stretch, pirouette, a perfect little choreography of movement. You’ve been so shy to show it to others, reserving your performances for mainly your brother and me. And those three am performances, there is nothing so sacred, soft, sweet, or exhausting. They’re a foretaste of all the early mornings we’ll share, me rocking you, singing to you, as you nurse and (probably) fuss. I know you have a tender heart, a softness to you. And I know you have a flame too. I know your temper, as you are quick to kick back when the midwife starts pressing. I know your sense of righteous indignation. But I know your softness too. I know you love to stretch your little backside up towards my ribs, and know you love when I gently pat it, a reminder that I am here, waiting for you.
You will fit so well with our wild little band.
Do you know - within a few months of having your brother, I longed for you? The quiet prayer of my soul was to one day have a daughter come in a June. I imagined it all so differently, a different place, a different time, a different sort of family - but yet, here we are.
Counting down the days…
There is a song I sang when I longed for you, and I still waltz around the house with your brother and you when it plays…
It’s To Whom It May Concern by The Civil Wars1
“Why are you so far from me?
In my arms is where you ought to be
How long will you make me wait?
I don't know how much more I can take”
and
“I'm slowly counting down the days
'Til I finally know your name
Ooh, the way your hand feels 'round my waist
The way you laugh, the way your kisses taste”
My love - I am counting down the days for you.