I want to start by reminding you of the time you drove around Dallas with me and my colicky 4 week old while we went house hunting. You would often keep the car driving in circles while I ran in and out of each prospective home with the agent- because Kendall would scream until he was purple if the car stopped moving.
Later that night, you helped me prop a hotel hair dryer against the nightstand since white noise apps weren’t a thing back in 2008. We dozed and took turns making sure the dryer didn’t fall, didn’t spark. I honestly can’t believe we didn’t set that room on fire.
It was a really hard time to be a new mom with a tiny baby, doing such a big and grownup thing. I didn’t know how to breastfeed him without fumbling yet. I didn’t know how to change him without making a mess of those yellow, seedy diapers that smelled mysteriously like movie popcorn.
I was hanging by a thread, honestly. And then he became inconsolable – AGAIN. This was his thing. He had colic. But there was something about this cry. He was irritated. He was squinting. I looked closer to see an adult eyelash stuck in his glassy blue baby eye.
I just about lost it. Because how the actual fuck do you go about fixing THAT? Panic set in. The kind I know you’re used to seeing from me for as long as you can remember. I catastrophize.
You gently took him from me, and as if you had been mothering your whole life, you softly blew into his eye, and he blinked the eyelash right out.
That was not an exception to who you are. You have comforted babies in the NICU, and blood donors on the floor. You have nannied and au pair-ed. You have stabilized many a drunk photo-booth participant. And you have been the best aunt 4 Krause kids could ask for.
As if you have been mothering your whole life, because you’re made for this.
It will not be easy. The mechanics will not come naturally. I sincerely hope if you’ve learned anything from watching me do this 4 times, it’s that perfection is never an option and the pursuit of anything more than “this works” is wasted.
But the ability to love, to nurture, to mother? You’ve got this. You always have.
It’s possible you’re very, very, very pregnant and crying reading this right now. I’m sorry! We’ll make the next post a little lighter. Maybe we can talk about texting mucus plug photos?
I’m so thrilled to see you on this next roller coaster of life, and I can’t wait for you to share some of that through your own personal lens of humor and truth here. Thanks for giving me a niece/nephew, and thanks for taking care of one of my other babies- this blog.
Your big sis Jill
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