Resolutions of a [Fairly] New Mama

I’ve been mulling what to write next for this little blog.  In December, I thought I’d attempt to capture the magic of Christmas with a little one, what special moments we had on Christmas Eve night and how she reacted Christmas morning, etc. So I waited to write until the green and red dust settled.  However…Know thyself, Carly. December 26^th came, and Christmas was, like, so yesterday (ha, ha). Before December 25^th, everything is vivid, sharp and the moments of gratitude for family and friends are crisp and nearly tangible. But post-Christmas, I tend to be blurry, vaguely anti-social, and looking forward to quiet, boring days in which we fell back into routine. Thus, my window to write about Christmas flew by in the blink of a reindeer’s eye.

Then came New Years.

New Years is a time for resolutions. Time to get it together. According to much of America, it’s time to lose weight, get organized, and start the New Year with a plan. I tried to jump into this exciting, goal-oriented current, attempting to think of my own resolutions. Given that I now have a post-baby-body-that-only-plans-to-stretch-out-and-do-this-again-one-day-and-who-has-time-to-look-good-anyway, the “hot bod” isn’t so high on the list. Additionally, every attempt to organize the house is demolished (literally) by the tiny Kabloomers/Destruction Specialist who can obliterate any ‘anti-mess’ hopes and dreams in about 4 seconds flat. 

So I sat, pondering a tangible, measurable goal this New Years. Tried to wrap my fingers around something I could write down, and check off. I thought about what I hope to accomplish this year as a mother.  

Realization came to me slowly, like a tide creeping forward on a beach, seeping into a life-plan etched into the sand a long time ago by a girl who used to be me.  I used to love resolutions because they made me feel in control.  And one of the lessons of motherhood (that smacks me around daily) is that this idea of control, or having it all together and figured out, or meeting every milestone by when BabyCenter says you should… it’s something I’ve had to let go of.

My goals are no longer for a set 365 days. My biggest hopes and dreams, what I will pour my heart and soul into in 2014, is currently sprawled out, fast asleep in her crib, oblivious to any of this. She fits on no check list, and all I do with her that deeply matters to me is lined with the Unknown.  Sure, I can come up with mini-resolutions. I will read to Adalyn every day; we will feed her the right foods, take her to baby gyms and Amazement Square; we will put down electronics for actual facetime; we will go on walks and meet new parents, and we will encourage every milestone that’s next with every tool and parental instinct we possess. Yet, I know that with kids, what I truly resolve to do will be “in progress” for the rest of my life.

So, here are the dreams I came up with this January 1, as a mother raising a daughter:

• I hope she loves the outdoors.
• I hope she is an optimist.
• I hope she learns to build and that the smell of lumber and saw dust is familiar to her.
• I hope, from us, that she sees marriage as an adventurous, real and powerful love.
• I hope she reads.
• I hope that she does not post idiotic things on facebook.
•  I hope she learns to drive stick and change a tire on her own.
• I hope she smiles as much as she does now.
• I hope she plays basketball, but if she doesn't, I hope she finds something that fills her with energy and life.
• I hope she believes in Santa for too long.
• I hope she is kind, even when it’s hard.
• I hope she sucks up to teachers, and knows the rules to Quidditch, and can speak a sentence without the word ‘like.’
• I hope she is imaginative.
• I hope she opens doors for those around her.
• I hope she steps outside of her comfort zone, even when it’s uncomfortable.
• I hope she travels, with us, and with others.
• I hope she never litters.
• I hope she is healthy, and that we get to watch her become whoever it is that she is meant to be.
• I hope she always brings her one-eyed pirate smile. It lights up my heart every day.
• I hope she is careful and responsible, but I hope she finds adventure, in ordinary places, and in ordinary people.
• I hope she knows how loved she has been since Day 1, and that she feels gratitude for it, the bone-deep, give-it-forward kind of thankfulness.
• I hope that she too learns to hope, for I believe her dreams will make this world better.

None of this will likely happen in 2014. These aren't things I can check off and move on from, in search of the next goal.  I can only know that as I sit on the floor and read to her, build lego cars with her, walk through the neighborhood with her, and take care of her, that we are at the beginning of something special. We are writing the first words of her story.

 She fell asleep on my lap the other day, and her hand was resting on my arm; it looked tiny and chubby and trusting against mine. A line came to me from a John Hiatt song, a fleeting moment in which I felt completely at peace about my new kind of January 1^st:

Don't ask what you are not doing
Because your voice cannot command
In time we will move mountains
And it will come through your hands.

Here's to new hopes and dreams and parenthood. 

Happy New Year, everyone!