Dear Morris,
Here we are. Your twelfth month. I can’t stop thinking about how you are only just about to be blown away by all of the wonders of this world. I am so excited for you! I see the way you are fascinated by the simplest of things; the way you watch the birds and smile at the sound of a lion roar; the way you squeeze flowers between your dimpled fingers, and like to stop in the middle of the walking path to collect rocks. You smile when you hear the sound of other kids playing and reach out to touch others on the bus, so curious and happy in their presence. You are already an explorer and I am certain that this year is going to give you even more opportunities to uncover the joy of life outside of a pandemic lockdown. It’s going to give you even more space to try out your newfound skill of walking and put forth even more words and sounds for you to copy. You’ll get to say “baa” at real goats and feel the textures of even more objects to stack. The thrill of peeking and booing from behind objects you’ve never seen or felt before.
This year we will sit on a terrace of a restaurant and watch the world pass us by. We’ll laugh and play with friends in the park. We’ll takes buses, trains, and bikes to places and events all over. We’ll go from animal to animal at the zoo and then go back again. We’ll load onto more than one airplane with way too many suitcases and see new and old places in the world. We’ll mingle with strangers. We’ll have playdates with your school friends. You will hear grandma’s sweet voice as she loves on you the way she’s been dreaming about doing for over a year and oh will you melt at her smile. You’ll hear grandpa singing along to Bruce Springsteen and auntie Sarah playing the piano. You’ll feel Oli and Henry kisses bathing your face. You’ll hear uncle Aaron telling all about his newest adventure, whether hunting, fishing, cooking, or building furniture for his house and you’ll run auntie Aubrey’s long, beautiful hair in between those dimpled fingers as she giggles when you make the cutest sounds of admiration. You’ll feel the coziness of your great grandmas’ homes and maybe even smell the sweet deliciousness of their baking. You’ll hear all of the memories of the grandpa’s that enjoyed those same homes too. You’ll see a mountain, swim in a lake, and hike through the woods. You’ll awaken that little Oregonian in you and unleash that Amsterdammer, too. You’ll play with your cousins Sem and Maas and find yourself in oma and opa’s oasis in Friesland far more often! You’ll fall in love with all these people because now that you’re an explorer and you’re older, you are also wise to remember them, too!
In the process, mama and papa may even reawaken those little bits of Oregon and Amsterdam in themselves, too. Because you see, you’ve been our whole life this year. Truly, nothing else. All of these things would have been so normal for all of us in a normal year. But not for your first year. Not during the Covid-19 pandemic. When you were born, there were strict rules in the hospital. Not just anyone could be there. It was quiet and calm. You were quite cozy in mama’s tummy as she pushed and pushed in the birthing centre bath with papa in charge of music and holding her hand. You were also very big so even though you were ready to come out and we were so ready to meet you, you were a bit stuck. Mama had to get some special hormones to make her super strong with her pushes. Just when mama thought she couldn’t do it anymore, the midwife said you had light hair and that made mama so excited to meet you! Five minutes later you were in my shaky arms, as I cried meeting you for the first time. You were chunky and red with a round belly and indeed, light hair. Papa and I cuddled you so tight in those first minutes. The week after you were brought into this world, the rest of it went in to lockdown. Everyone wore masks. For one year, you have lived in the sweet isolation of the two big humans who love you the most and we have lived in the sweet isolation of the one tiny one who loves us most, too. What an honor. So few restaurants, shops, museums, animals, events, even at times…jobs, distracted us from one another for so much of this year. So few people. For one year we’ve snuggled up together every night, wrestled and giggled around our new living room, explored the nearby nature, danced around the house, and sang The Itsy Bitsy Spider all too often. Some weeks we took a bubble bath every single day and didn’t get out of our pajamas. Most days, you at least got out of your pajamas. We’ve climbed through cardboard box creations, made big messes with paint and water, and shared many firsts together like skating on natural ice or biking together to the beach. When papa was away on layovers, we were attached at the hip. You helped me cook our dinners which we sat and ate together and you kept a good, close eye on the spinning laundry that mama could never catch up on. You tested out all the clean kitchen utensils straight from the washing machine and joined mama on many nature walks so she could still keep up taking photos. We caught the stomach flu together. We cried together when we sometimes didn’t know why. But mostly, we laughed at funny faces, sounds, and the endless peeking and booing. We chatted about “ba” and “da” and “oo” and “goo”. We played and stacked and stacked and played. We opened and closed, closed and open. Went under tables and climbed over furniture. Explored cabinets and drawers, forests, beaches, and farmland. We adventured through snow, ice, and many the park, breastfeeding pretty much every situation mentioned. My heart has never felt like it could burst so big, so consistently, so proudly as it started last March 4th, 2020.
While we could worry about how this crazy time may have effected the way you see the world, we have seen you thrive. We see that you have gotten just what you needed out of this first year of life and that makes me so happy, even when I’m feeling sad about what I feel you have missed. Maybe what I feel, I missed with you, too. All you needed was us and actually, all we needed was you.
When I first came into this new, sort of scary role as your mama, I really didn’t have any strong opinions or ideas about what I was doing. I knew the kind of person I hoped to help you become, someday, but the whole experience was a blank canvas and my best paints were just waiting to be opened as I gained some more experience. But if there is one thing my background in education has taught me it’s to trust kids; to give them agency over their learning and amble opportunities and space to grow. That sounds stupid, I know- how can you trust an infant to teach themselves? I sometimes questioned myself. I sometimes listened too much to Dr. Google. But I did weirdly trust you and trust us as a team, together. Chunky, healthy little Morris, you have managed to breastfed on demand through these whole 12 months, making your own schedule to nourish yourself from the very beginning. It was messy, cozy, special, overwhelming, hard, but some of my absolute favorite moments with you. Sometimes it felt like I was hanging out for the world to see, constantly and in every setting, until the amazing moments when you regulated your timings on your own and fell into a natural routine. Either way, I never worried because I knew you’d get what you need and that made this first year jammed packed with Oxytocin and never too stressful. After a whole year of sleeping with us in our bed, you naturally are now ready to sleep in your own bed/room and you are putting yourself to sleep when we leave the room, all by yourself. Because of this, we didn’t have to sleep train you and that makes us so happy. When you started exploring solid foods, you dove in with your fingers and spoon right off the bat, nourishing yourself with all the same yummy things mama and papa eat. Again, my heart could burst with pride. You are only one year old and I love that your first year started with you guiding it, yourself, so much. Mr. Independent.
Morris, when I met your dad in 2012, my whole life changed. His smile, positive energy, humour, and unwavering commitment introduced me to a whole new world whilst simultaneously introducing me to so many new physical places in the world, too. It felt as if the most exciting door had opened to everything I had ever hoped for: love, travel, adventure, and a true partner in this life. I fell in love so hard. I became better. Over the years, despite so many ups and downs and even a motorcycle accident, we became stronger. Life was so good. Then you came along and all that became true, all over again. I fell in love so hard. I became better. We became stronger. Life was SO good. Watching your dad fall in love with you, changed my life all over again. I love how he makes you giggle with his silly sounds, chat with you in Dutch, dances with you to Jason Darulo, sings to you baby shark, takes lots of baths with you, and reads “Going on a Bear Hunt” with you. I love that having Wednesday, daddy days with you has created a special bond between you guys and that he can so confidently care for you in any situation. He is your protector, playmate, best bud. After your first year, I feel so lucky. Lucky to be his wife. Lucky to be your mom. Lucky to get to see you, a fresh, perfect little human, get to grow up with such an amazing man as your dad. I can’t wait to watch you grow as his son, continuing to build a very unique relationship, so strong with him. He loves you so much. He stares at you while you sleep, always asking “isn’t he perfect?” or constantly saying “I love him so much." He asks me all the time, “How much do you love your son?” at which time we both blush red with so much love and giggle because it’s too much for words to say.
As your next year unfolds and you become a little toddler, I plan to continue trusting you and letting you guide the way as we gear up to teach you so much about this world and how you can best explore it. Sometimes we will have to put our foot down. Sometimes we will have to teach you that food goes in your mouth, not ALL over the floor and milk is to be swallowed not spit out. But as you learn these things, I can’t wait to celebrate every little milestone, no matter how small. I can’t wait to see the bank of words and sounds you will continue learning to speak and see how you apply all you know to beginning to understand this crazy, beautiful world. We have so many things we can’t wait to show you, tell you, teach you. So many places and people to introduce you, too. But for now, climb up here into bed another night with me. Papa will be home tomorrow. So, curl in close, fitting perfectly against my body for a few minutes before you sprawl out, across the whole bed where he would lay. I’ll never, ever forget this year and this feeling, specifically. No matter how many years old you get.
I love you, Morris.
Mama