Dear Livia,
Yesterday I took your mobile down. I suppose I could’ve picked a better time to do it than when you laid down for your afternoon nap. When I removed the colorful characters from above your head you looked at me like, What are you doing, crazy lady? Don’t you know I NEED that? I had to fight the sentimental feelings (the same ones I’m fighting now as I write this letter) because I do want you to get bigger and I do want you to grow older, even though I say I don’t. Right now your future is mine, and I am excited for each day. And for this moment, the sweet mobile is put away until another Tredway baby arrives or until a little Lawton is born. Feel free to safely stand up in your crib, should the desire seize you, whenever the time is right.
I imagine you’ll be pulling yourself upright soon since you began standing a few short weeks ago. As you stood at our coffeetable—the same one your grandfather scooted around generations ago—your little legs shook, your hands tightly clasped the tabletop, and your eyes shone with pride. It was adorable and it was an answer to prayer; I was just hoping you’d master a new technique before we went in for your 9 month checkup. No crawling as of yet, though you are choosing to tolerate tummy time a little more now. The jury is out as to whether you’ll walk or crawl first. Either way we’re going to have to clean the floors much better than we do now! My hearts about stops when you choke on a Cheerio or when I imagine you putting small objects in your mouth. Motherhood is full of potential worries like that!
Livia, you now have a full blown personality, complete with a mini temper and a joyful soul. You laugh with pure glee at funny images like Daddy twirling in the kitchen and at invisible images that only reside in your mind. You bounce and kick your legs with happy vigor when something fancies you. On the other hand, you’ve shown an amazing flair for drama (like your Mom, sigh) when you burst into tears after a toy’s been taken away. I first noticed this ability at WalMart. You had been sucking on a C.D. case (it was either Disney’s Greatest, Volume 1, or Derek Webb’s She Must and Shall Go Free, I can’t remember which) when the album fell into the shopping cart. Unsure of whether you should’ve been mouthing the potentially germ-infested article in the first place, I chose to ignore the mishap and then guess what happened? You, my normally contented and complacent child, burst into tears like someone had pinched your hand hard! I was momentarily stunned and on reflex almost reached down to retrieve your “toy.” I quickly stopped myself, afterall I didn’t want you to suck on the C.D., but you really surprised me! The tears looked so genuine and so intense, not at all this fake whining that I see in some babies. Anyhow, a new side of you has emerged and I, the mother who loves you incredibly, am fully enjoying it.
Your dad and I still sit and watch you for entertainment. Whether you’re blowing spit bubbles and babbling loudly or whether you’re sucking your fingers and pulling on your hair while being rocked to sleep, we simply adore you. You are ours and we praise God for you.
Love always,
Mama
This leads me to my lone modeling experience (discounting the time Charity and I performed on the catwalk in our prom dresses for the Lincoln Christian Women’s Club, that is). During my teen years I posed on my back deck for an artist. Holding corncobs and cornstalks, I wore a button-down blouse, pinafore and straw hat in imitation of a farmgirl from some day of old. My hair was long and wavy (permed) and I didn’t have to pose for long. The artist, a friend from Covenant Presbyterian, snapped photos and drew a gorgeous picture from them. I was paid around $40 for my “work”. The result, my friends, is that my face, or rather, the artist’s rendition of my face, graces an “a-maizing” corn snack called