Cooper's 1st Haircut

On June 26th we finally broke down and got the Little Prince a haircut. That one little pesky curl that has been sticking out over his ear and driving me nuts for months was finally going to go - hallelujah! Or so I thought... 

We took Cooper to visit Terry at the Golden Razor, the same barber that gave Cooper's daddy his first haircut. I walked in feeling good about it - "Cooper's hair cut" would finally get checked off my to-do list. I was armed and ready - cheezits, Daddy and my camera. Let's do this thing! I know what every mother out there is thinking, I forgot the envelope that I would collect the hair from his first haircut in. Nope, I didn't forget. I had no desire to gather up the little strands of hair that would fall on the barber's floor. I had read once that Angelina Jolie saved all her children's fingernail clippings and hair - so strange. That's just not me. I'm not that mom. I'm not even very sentimental. Saving hair is weird. I didn't even consider bringing an envelope.

We walk in and waited our turn until Coop was finally up. Brandon stuck him in the big ol' chair and the little babe was not scared one single bit. I got my camera ready. Terry goes straight for that annoying curl and with one quick snip it's gone... 

I thought I was going to shatter into a million pieces on the floor. I quickly hid the big heavy tears rolling down my cheeks behind the camera and snapped away frantically. No one seemed to notice that I was dying right there in the middle of the Golden Razor. Terry asked me if I would like him to stick the little curl into an envelope to save - YES. Yes yes yes yes yes - I NEED that little curl. My baby just went from newborn to twelve year old looking boy when that curl got cut off. I NEED to hold, stare, probably carry that curl around my neck in a locket for the rest of time. Now that I'm thinking about it that curl wasn't so annoying after all... It was the curl he twisted between his little chubby fingers when he was sleepy. It was the curl that made him remain a tiny baby. WHAT HAD I DONE LETTING HIM GET A HAIRCUT?! 

My sweet son never moved a muscle the entire time Terry worked on him. I continued to let the tears drip down my face and tried my best to stop time by frantically taking one picture after another. I wanted to remember how little he looked. I didn't ever want to forget how brave he was. I desperately tried to burn the images of his little legs and feet, not even long enough to dangle over the edge of the chair. 

This baby boy of mine amazes me every day. Literally, daily, I underestimate him and he proves me wrong. Haircut day was one of those days... I so want him to remain tiny. I treat him like he is a baby 95% of the time. But on haircut day, my Little Prince sat bravely in the big boy chair, held perfectly still while the scissors snipped and the clippers buzzed all around his tiny head. I carried in a baby and he turned into a boy right before my eyes while sitting in the barber's chair. And my heart swelled with pride and joy despite the tears.

And while I so desperately want him to remain my teeny-tiny baby, I hope he understands how much I enjoy watching him grow... 

Sweet boy of mine, don't be surprised if you see a stray tear every once in a while because for every haircut from here on out, whether you are two or twenty-two, your Mommy will only see the little boy in the big chair at the Golden Razor.

A Letter To My Son {Month 10}

Little Prince,

Another month has flown by in record time... The hours turn into days, the days into weeks, and the weeks into months in what feels like a wink of the eye. I want to make time stop. I want to hit pause. But much to my dismay, and despite my best efforts, every morning you wake up a little bigger than the day before... This month has been different than the  previous months, this month my emotions progressed from the sadness over no longer having a tiny baby to a new level of heart griping fear. I have never been fearful of much of anything so this new found anxiety is a surprising one - definitely not what I expected to be feeling. But precious boy of mine, everything about you makes me question everything about me... Let me explain...

There are different types of fears that mommies face. There are the obvious ones - 

Exhibit A: The thought of a bad guy snatching you away from me! If I really sat and thought about someone taking you from me and your daddy I would never leave the house, but honestly the danger of you being kidnapped doesn't seem very real. You are virtually always within my reach and never out of my sight. I always park in well lit areas and if I do feel some "stranger danger" paranoia looming over us, I hold you so close to my body that I worry I might be squeezing the breath out of you. Bad guys are very scary, but they aren't the type of fear that keeps me up at night. 

Exhibit B: Bodily harm. The other night we were at your Grammy's house with your Uncle Caleb, Aunt Ashlee, Brooks and Kamryn. Brooks has a new toy that prepares him for a big boy bicycle by teaching him how to balance - it looked just like a regular bike but without pedals. Ol' Brooksy could make that thing FLY! He was whizzing around on Grammy's driveway, leaning the bike over right to the point of tipping at every turn, but never fell! He rode it effortlessly and we were all incredibly impressed... While the boys were oohing and ahhing over Brooks's athletic prowess, I stood in awe at Brooks's mommy. While everyone else watched our little nephew, I couldn't help but watch Ashlee. People always tell you when you have kids its like your heart walks around outside of your body - I couldn't agree more. I wanted so badly to ask her what it felt like to watch your baby, your heart, your everything, whiz by you all while knowing sooner or later the crash would come. Eventually the tilt would be a little too much, or the corner would be a little too sharp, or the bike would go a little too fast and Brooks would meet the pavement... How was she being so brave? How could she stand there smiling and clapping? Was she screaming "Slow down! Be careful!" in her head? Does the courage of the mommy grow with the child because right now I get a pit in my stomach every time you pull open a drawer or cabinet because I know you won't leave it alone until your little fingers have been smashed at least one time. At this rate your daddy will have to put me on Xanax for me to be able to watch you ride a bike! But when I take a deep breath and a step back I remember that in all my growing up days, no bike wreck left a scab that I didn't outgrow. As much as I want to make you wear a helmet 24/7 and wrap you in rolls of bubble wrap, I know that bumps and bruises are part of growing up, they are a necessary evil, a part of how we learn. So, even though I dread the day of the big boy bike, I sleep in peace despite the fear of bodily harm.

Exhibit C: Real, true health issues. I know way too many people with really sick babies. From brain tumors to heart issues to "the doctors don't know yet," the thought of you getting sick is really, really scary... like more scary than I will let my mind imagine. But, realistically, there is nothing in the world I can do to prevent or protect you from a serious health ailment and if, Heaven forbid, you ever had one, there wouldn't be a thing in the world I could do to fix it other than pray. So that's what I do! Every day I cover you from head to toe in prayer and I know that God's got you! He is in control of all things and he loves you more than even I do - and with utter and complete faith in Him, I can sleep well at night.

I walked into this whole "Mommy gig" fully expecting to be afraid of A, B and C. Those I was ready for... Those aren't the fears that keep me up at night... Much to my surprise, the fear that makes my stomach turn is the fear of my own insufficiency and this month I realized just how damaging my short comings could be for you. This month I saw that your only limitation in life right now is me. ME. I'm it. I'm your hold up. And that's absolutely terrifying...

Here's how this went - we were in our hotel in Spain and your daddy and I were trying to get ready for the day, taking turns entertaining you while the other got dressed. Daddy was holding you and you very clearly reached for me and said, "Momma." I blew it off as a fluke,  but you were persistent. You would say a "Momma" here, and a "Momma" there and each time they made sense in relation to what was going on. You would want me to hold you or I would go around the corner, each time you would respond with a perfect sounding "Momma." So, with great pride and joy we acknowledged "Momma" as your first word and then once I had decided you were capable of saying words, we started practicing other words... and within two days you were talking! And while I was celebrating your new found words with you on the outside, my inside was cringing and questioning and worrying about what you could have been saying months ago if I had practiced with you. 

I had fallen short for you. I had underestimated you. Throughout the month, I saw examples of this over and over. A play date with a friend who did all of these adorable hand tricks which you watched and then repeated immediately... How did I miss that you were so ready and eager to learn?! Was I so caught up and absorbed in your physical growth that I had completely overlooked the fact that your little mind was constantly stretching and expanding as well?! Was I so hung up on meeting your physical needs that I failed to challenge you mentally? Oh, how I had dismissed your little mind because "You were just a baby." 

This Momma-fail hurt worse than the time I let you fall off the bed. This Momma-fail made me feel like I was missing my big picture purpose. This Momma-fail left me lying in bed at night wondering what you were capable of and whether or not I was capable of doing you justice. 

Precious son of mine, I am so sorry. I am sorry for the times I underestimate you. I am sorry in advance for the times I will push you too much. I know there will be days when I demand more from you than you think you are able to give, but sweet boy, you are capable of anything under the sun. I am sorry for my failure to teach. I am sorry for the times when you don't want to learn and I insist. I am sorry that it will be a constant struggle to find the balance. I am sorry that you got stuck with me instead of an early childhood education major who could most likely turn you into a child wonder. I am sorry for the moments when I treat you like a baby and I am sorry for the times I treat you too much like an adult.  I am sorry for the things that you will face that I failed to prepare you for. I am sorry that even when you are a full grown man I'll most likely still be imposing my thoughts, insights and opinions on you even when you don't ask. The list of "I'm sorrys" will never end... when you are old and gray I will most likely still have sleepless nights of worrying that I didn't do enough. Please know, that when I fall short and when I go to far, I always want what is best for you. I don't want to be your limiting factor. Even today when you aren't even a year old, I can stare into your eyes and be wildly intimidated. Someday you will be some precious baby's daddy and you will understand. 

I love you Little Prince. I promise to always give you my best and you can bet that each night before I go to bed, I have a long talk with God about you... and I thank Him for filling in the gap when I am not enough.

All my love,
Mommy

TEN Month Milestones:

Eye Color - Looking like darrrrk brown.

Weight - 20 lbs 2 oz (45%) I feel pretty confident that you lost weight while we were on vacation... you ate a LOT of bread, but didn't really care to eat much more past that except gelato of course. Haha! 

Height - 30.5 inches (97%)

Your head is still coming in at an impressive 100%

Clothing - 12 to 18 month clothes.

Nicknames - Little Prince, Coop, El Toro.

Hair - The fact that I haven't taken you to get your hair cut is borderline shocking. It's time. It's starting to curl on the ends. Even Uncle Awesome told me I need to take you to get a trim and he's not exactly known for having the most well kept hair! Hopefully we will slow down soon and get that marked off our to-do list.

Teeth - You have six! Four on top, two on bottom.

Crawling - Full speed! You are one fast little booger - you crawl everywhere and pull up on everything! 

Walking - Still not walking on your own! While in Barcelona, you were pushing your stroller (by yourself) and stopped, let go and took three steps to reach the park bench that you instantly started drumming. Daddy and I did our best to recreate the scenario so you would do it again, but you were no longer interested. People everywhere tell us, "Oh he'll be walking in no time!" but we've heard that for months now... and we are fine with it! You'll walk when you want to and we'll enjoy this time of only a semi-mobile baby!

You added a few new tricks to your bag this month: Talking. While in Spain you officially became verbal. You say "Momma" very clearly - especially when crying - "Mom-maaaaa!" Daddy took the fact that you said Momma first very well and to reward him you started the "Da-ddy, Da-ddy" two days later! 

Daddy is also getting kisses now! He bribes you, you kiss him, he acts like a crazy happy fool, you laugh and the process starts over. Pretty darn cute.

You attended "Music Camp" this month and I could not have been more amazed at how you did! They moved us up to a older class (2 and under) and you just jumped right in!! Mrs. Ginger would say, "Okay, everyone come up and get (insert musical instrument here)" and all the kids got up, walked forward... Cooper hops out of my lap and starts crawling toward the front... the kids get the instruments... Cooper waits his turn... the kids are very careful not to step on his fingers and walk back to their moms... Cooper gets his instruments, starts crawling back, stops to clap for himself! This was one of the most fun things I've watched in a very long time. The Little Prince loved music camp. He loved mimicking the big kids. He loved staring in awe at Mrs. Ginger and the fun she brings. He loved glow in the dark day. He loved the puppet show. He loved every single bit of it and I loved watching him have so much fun. 

Food this month has been kind of tricky. Spain definitely complicated things. You would crush breakfast (per usual), then we'd eat a light lunch (so you'd just eat bread), we'd get you some fruit snack (grapes or strawberries) and then dinner... The Spaniards don't even open restaurants for dinner until 8:30pm! So as we waited for our dinner, you'd throw a crazy-wild fit because you were starving and then you'd either (a) be too mad to eat, (b) fall asleep or (c) crush so much bread leading up to dinner that you were no longer hungry. Then of course we'd finish the night with gelato because it was vacation after all. Did I mention that nowhere in the entire country of Spain do they have high chairs?! Most bizarre thing ever. Finally we found one at breakfast at the last place we stayed - we sat you in it and you were sooooo happy and clapped and clapped! You did not like the fact that your independence was hampered by sitting in our laps one bit.

I can not stress what an incredibly good baby you are. Our travel day home from Spain took exactly 24 hours and you literally did not cry the entire time (with the small exception of when daddy slammed your finger in the tray, but even that little cry was only for about two seconds). We literally dragged you around the world and you were nothing but agreeable. You smiled, you flirted and you insisted on being breastfed in the most awkward places (bullfight, Prado museum, the Palace... I could go on...). It was an absolute joy traveling with you - you engage people everywhere! And the most amazing thing is that they all smiled, waved, and talked to you... from the little old ladies, to the business men, to the people I would have been a little afraid of normally - you held no bias and they returned the courtesy. It was really rather amazing to me! As always, you made us extremely proud...

My New Perspective: Cooper's First Boo Boo and Easter

**I have been struggling with this post since the week before Easter. I have written, backspaced, added and edited until I can't see straight and I'm still quite sure I haven't done the story justice. But alas, I hit "Publish" and have faith that God can use the message despite the messenger's inability to write a coherent sentence. 

You know how people always say everything changes once you have a baby... well, let me tell ya, they weren't lying. Yes, you'll most likely never enjoy a long leisurely shower again and running into the grocery store "real quick" will become a thing of the past and a wild night out on the town will mean you stay out past 8:30 pm - but that's not what I'm talking about. What comes to mind when I consider how my life has changed in the past eight months are bigger, more complex things, like how I have a completely new perspective on everything in life. 

Before Cooper I felt like my job was important... and now I look at this little boy who we are responsible for raising to be a kind, humble, compassionate, happy, loving, adventurous, generous, Christ-centered man. Now I understand what having a truly important job feels like.

Before Cooper watching or reading the news was something I did daily while basically brushing all the bad, scary stuff to the side and listening for anything that might pertain to or impact me personally - like a traffic report or ball game scores. Now the news of a child being abused or abducted strikes an absolute gut wrenching fear in my stomach. The story of a tsunami or mudslide or Heaven forbid, a sink hole, millions of miles away will leave me marking that destination off our "Travel To Do" list as unsafe. People, I've become a nut, I read recall lists like it's my job. 

Before Cooper, holidays were fun times spent with our families celebrating Jesus's birth or resurrection... Now the Christmas story brings tears to my eyes as I understand the miracle of childbirth and am in awe of the Baby Jesus. And Easter, oh Easter...

I am a firm believer that God uses different events in your life to mold you, shape you, teach you. It seems that Easter brings a new lesson my way annually. A couple of years ago, God used Easter and blogging to teach me a profound lesson on forgiveness (You can read more about my fight with forgiveness here). Last year, God used pregnancy hormones and a praise and worship service to teach me about the depths of God's love portrayed through the Easter story that I had failed to grasp before (You can read about that tearful experience here.) This year, God has used my precious Cooper and his very first little boo boo as a complete game changer for Easter. Here's the story...

The weekend before Easter Brandon, Cooper and I spent the night with my parents at their lake house. To be completely open and honest, Brandon and I had been having an on-going little feud for most of the drive that was only heightened by the fact that sweet Cooper had woke up when we stopped for a quick drive thru dinner and proceeded to scream bloody murder for the remaining two hour drive. It was less than awesome. We pulled in, unloaded the car with obvious frustration and I took Cooper back to the bedroom to change him into his pajamas so that we could bring this dreadful evening to an end. 

He was feeling much better - happy to be out of his car seat, happy to have the full, undivided attention of his grandparents, happy to be in his comfy jammies... Baby boy was feeling good, stretching out and kicking his little feet like a horse that had been kept in a stall all day and was finally free to roam the pasture. The only problem was his kicking was moving my laptop dangerously close to the edge of the bed. So I sat him up, grabbed my laptop, said "Don't move." and turned to stick the laptop back in my bag... 

Well, you know how this story ends... with a "thump" and then a screaming cry. 

The Little Prince had not rolled, but instead dove, face first off the side of the bed. (Let's take a brief pause to say thank you Lord for letting us be at the lake where the bed is low and the floor is carpeted unlike at our house with wood floors and tall beds. Amen.) I snatched the little tiny up so quickly he may have suffered from whip lash following the initial injury. My mind was racing frantically - "He's screaming - that's a good sign... but it's also a bad sign, is something broke?! All his body parts are moving frantically - good sign... All of his facial features seem to have remained in tact - good sign... wait, his nose!" His little tiny nose was beat red/blue and starting to appear as though it might bleed. 

"BRANDON!!!!!!!" It's really, really nice to have a daddy that is also a doctor... more so for the Mommy than for the injured child. Brandon and I met running down the hall. I spit out the highlights - "I turned around for one second (infamous words) and he fell off the bed face first and I'm dreadfully afraid he has broken his little perfect nose on the side board of the bed! Is it broke?!" 

Brandon instantly switched into calm doctor mode and gave Cooper a quick exam. He assured me, despite the blood curdling screams coming from our Little Prince, he was just fine and his nose wasn't broke... it is still made up of cartilage that hasn't turned to bone yet... blah-blah-make-Mommy-feel-better-talk-blah. 

As soon as I was sure Cooper would live and his little face would remain perfect (once the giant carpet burn on his nose went away), I fell apart. I covered my face with my hands and burst into tears! Brandon passed the still crying Cooper over to my mom and came into the bedroom to console me... Yes, I know, a clear forfeit of the already long gone "Mother of the Year Award." 

Well, needless to say, I out cried Cooper. Not one of my proudest moments. Once I got control of myself somewhat, I went out on the patio and took Cooper from my mom... I squeezed that baby tighter than I have ever squeezed him before. Tears poured down my face as his little body melted into mine. I rocked and soothed and hugged and whispered "I love yous" and "I'm sorrys" over and over and over into his little ear. 

You know how your parents always told you that when you hurt they hurt worse... I learned in that minute that they were telling the truth. My heart felt like it had been cut wide open. It was a different type of pain that I had never felt before. Instead of putting Cooper in his pack 'n play as we normally do, he slept wrapped up tight, safe and secure, in my arms all night long. 

The love a parent has for their child is one you cannot grasp until you become a parent. What you would do for your child is something you cannot understand until you look into your baby's eyes for the first time and see the way they look at you - trust you, love you, believe that you can truly make everything alright. When I think about how much I love Cooper,  I can't help but wonder how Mary felt about her sweet baby, Jesus.

The Bible tells us that the night Mary found out she was pregnant with God's child she was very afraid... I've always assumed she was afraid because she woke up to a gigantic angel in her room - that would make me afraid! But this year I realized there there were other reasons she was afraid... She had just been told that she was pregnant by God - try explaining that one to your fiancé, not to mention the rest of the world. Maybe she felt the immense responsibility of raising JESUS, the Son of God, the Savior of the Universe - that is no doubt the most high pressure job of all time. What if she had the foresight to think of how her son would inevitably be met with hostility - criticized and mocked... Could she have possibly realized that the very people he had been sent to save would turn against him, spit on him, beat him and hang him on the cross? I hope, for her sake, she didn't think that far ahead... I hope she didn't ask the angel how it all would end... but as a mother, I know that worst case scenarios involving your child tend to occupy a large portion of your brain. 

I tend to put Mary in the "young girl in a barn with a sweet little baby Jesus" box, but this year it dawned on me that Mary was still the mommy of Jesus when he was hanging on the cross... and that changes everything. 

This Easter, I realized that I cannot begin to grasp the pain that Jesus went through for me. For my husband. For my son. For my family. For YOU... And that's what makes the gift of his life even more sweet - He did it for each and every one of us, just as He did it for Mary, his own mother.

I think it's safe to say, mothers as a whole, tend to struggle with guilt. Every time I saw that little red mark on my precious Cooper's nose, pangs of guilt hit me over and over and over. I should have never sat him on the bed. I knew better than to turn and put something away with him sitting so close to the edge. It's all my fault he fell off the bed. I could have prevented him from this pain. This year, I believe I had to feel pain so that I wouldn't take the sacrifice of the Son for granted any longer.

It is impossible for me to fathom the hurt that Mary experienced as she saw her baby hanging on the cross... I think about how much I hurt over Cooper's little skinned nose and my heart just begins to ache for Mary. The thought of seeing my son in that kind of pain makes me sick to my stomach to even think about, and then to pause and let it soak in that He died on the cross for her. He took the beating, the mocking, the lashings, the humiliation for Mary's sins, as well as the sins I have committed... To try to put myself in Mary's shoes just makes my heart feel like it's being ripped into a multitude of pieces. 

What I would give to take away any little tiny second of pain from Cooper... How Mary must have felt like she too was dying as she watched her baby hanging on that dark, heavy cross... and for her sins.  

To be completely honest, my mind still hasn't put all these feelings, emotions and thoughts into a logical order. I'm quite sure I haven't got to the bottom of what God is trying to show me this Easter as he has revealed the well known story to me from a totally new perspective, from the view point of a mother. 

But I do know this - seeing Jesus as Mary's baby made him much more real to me this year. Seeing Jesus as Mary's son made his pain, his sacrifice, have a much heavier toll on me. 

This year Mary showed me just how human Jesus was... 

Before this Easter, I had the tendency to envision Jesus just like the pictures in the children's books where his feet don't quite touch the ground and he has the big halo glow around him. This year, I saw a man who stopped to take care of his mother right before saving the whole wide world - past and present. 

This year, Jesus became real to me because I got to know his Mommy. What an overwhelming gift we have all been given... 

Jesus paid it all

All to him I owe

Sin had a left a crimson stain

He washed it white as snow.

Be Blessed,
Raegan