My sweet baby girl is one!

Mara has been in my arms for a year now, though she’s felt like she has been in my heart forever. There are so many feelings tangled up inside me, and I want to put them into words so that one day she can look back and truly know how deeply she is loved.

I’ve treasured the baby phase—the sleepless newborn nights, the cozy snuggles, the giggles and the soft coos, and that wonderful baby scent I wish I could bottle and keep forever. I’ve tried to soak up every small moment because they slip away so quickly.

Letting go of this stage with Mara has been harder than with our other children. Maybe it’s because our baby years feel finite, maybe because there are no guarantees and I’ve been cherishing her as if she might be our last, or maybe simply because my love for her is so big it aches. Whatever the reason, I keep picturing her as that snuggly newborn who arrived not long ago.

One night when Ritch was out I sat up after putting the kids to bed, had a good cry, and wrote a letter to Mara. It felt healing to pour my heart out, and I hope these words might bless someone else who reads them.

A Letter to Mara

To my sweet, sweet Mara. This past year with you has been one of the best of my life. It passed so quickly that sometimes I can’t remember how the days slipped by, and yet here we are—a year older together. If I could, I would do it all over with you.

Every kiss, every feeding, every long cuddle was intentional. I wanted to live the first year of your life fully and take in every bit of you. I did it imperfectly, but I loved you as best I knew how. I memorized every curve of your face, felt your chest rise and fall against mine, and found comfort in your heartbeat. You felt like an extension of me, and it seems I’ve known you my whole life.

Now you will begin to discover you are your own person—where I end and you begin will become clearer. Time changes us all, and while I wish I could keep you this small forever, I’m excited to watch who you will become.

Your love is fierce, your laughter contagious, and your will is strong. It’s been a joy to learn who you are. While I grieve the passing of this season, I look forward to the chapters ahead. Mara Hope, you are a beautiful gift, carefully made, and I am so grateful to be your mommy.

When I fail, when I make mistakes, when I am not who I should be—remember I love you. Remember I carried you, and even in my broken moments, the part of my heart that holds you has always been whole. Remember you are enough. You are cherished. You are beautiful. You are my Mara Hope.

—With more love than I could ever say, Mommy.

The Celebration

We don’t do big birthday parties in our family. After trying to meet a certain expectation for Bethany’s early birthdays, I realized those stress-filled standards weren’t for us. Mara doesn’t need a room full of presents she won’t remember, so this year we let the kids pick how they wanted to celebrate.

Mara is only one, so the family chose her plans. We spent the day together—our picnic plans were foiled by chilly weather—then had pizza for dinner. I made a cake inspired by sunflowers, because sunflowers make me think of Mara, and watching her enjoy it was priceless.

Her favorite moment was simple and sweet: every time we sang “Happy Birthday” she raised her hands and waved. We sang more times than I can count just to see her little hands in the air. My heart felt so full.

Reflections

My Girl

Of all our children, Mara has been the most devotedly a mommy’s girl. From the start she would reach for my face as if to check whether we were the same person. When I walk into a room she lights up and squeals with joy. The first time she climbed the stairs, it was straight to me at the top. No one else will do but Mommy, and I have savored every clingy second.

I will miss so much about baby Mara, and I am not ready to let that go completely. Even as she grows, I pray she remains my special girl for life.

Small but Fierce

Mara has a feisty personality already. She knows how to take toys from her siblings and can turn a pretend cry into real tears when told not to touch. She’s learned where the chocolate chips are in the pantry and will dart for them in a heartbeat.

There have been moments when Naomi sits on my lap and Mara will fake cry, then swat or pull hair to get attention. Of course we correct her, even at one she can learn kindness. But she isn’t shy about going after what she wants, and I love that determination.

I often think of a song when I think of Mara—my little wildflower, who will bring beauty and spirit to everyone she meets.

You belong among the wildflowers
You belong somewhere close to me
Far away from your trouble and worries
You belong somewhere you feel free
You belong somewhere you feel free. —Tom Petty