a letter to my littlest


Edie being Edie at eighteen months, laying on the floor and pondering the meaning of life.

Dear my sweet, sweet Edie Cooper,

When I found out it was you growing in my belly, I knew.


I knew it was you, Edie Bun.


I knew it would be you who would soften us, reminding us to kind always. I know it'd be you who'd serve as the living and breathing reminder of what's important and at stake and, also, what isn't. I knew it'd be you who'd remind me to slow down, to take a deep breath, and to revel in the magic that is being loved by you and your sister.

Whereas your sister knocked me off my axis, obliterating any semblance of what I thought my life would be and how little I was prepared for what life was about to become, changing the course of my life for the better forever, it was you who brought me back around to myself. It was you who reminded me of all that is good and hopeful. I knew it would be you who would heal old wounds, giving me the grace to forgive myself for all that I wasn't able to be after your sister was born. Whereas your sister made me a mother, you taught me how to be the mama I was always capable of being.


Edie, though I couldn't quite explain why at the time, I knew that I needed you, I needed you like I need air to breathe. I need you to know that I could do this and I could do it well.


In spite of how frustrating the last nine or so months have been with the eight+ ear infections, the surgery for tubes, mysteriously knocking out a tooth, consistently surviving on such very little sleep (much better than your mother, I might add), and, now, having Hand, Foot, and Mouth Disease, you're still you. Even just one of those circumstances should justify anyone for feeling like a ray of pitch black. But not you.


Not, you, my little ray of sunshine.



Edie, you are my inspiration, you are our magic, and you are my daily reminder of all that is good.

I love you to the moon and back, Edie Bun.

Thank you for being YOU.