Sunday, October 26, 2014


In my last letter I wrote to Cole about honesty and such.  He loved it and responded almost immediately. Because I told him if he didn't he'd be grounded. 
But this one's for Aidin. 

When you were born your tiny lungs weren't fully developed and your body couldn't breathe without help. They plucked you right out of my stomach and into an ambulance, which took you to a hospital with a neonatal intensive care unit. It was crazy scary for me, because I couldn't hold you or see you before they took you away. One minute I have this baby doing flips inside of me and the next I'm stitched up in a recovery room, hollowed out and alone. For the next few weeks I drove two hours a day to see you, then scrubbed my hands for three minutes and went into a large, dark room, silent save for the hushed chorus of monitors beeping steadily. I walked past rows of sleeping babies, some smaller than my hand, making my way to the very back. To you. I still couldn't pick you up but I could whisper to you and stroke your face and let your tiny fingers clasp mine. Eventually, as you got stronger I was allowed to hold you, but never for very long. The nurses didn't want you to get too accustomed to being held because then you would cry when I left. 

When I was finally able to bring you home I quickly found that you were not a typical baby.  After all those weeks in the hospital, you didn't like being held. You rarely cried, didn't require rocking and I don't remember more than a handful of times when you willingly fell asleep in my arms. Initially it was hard for me to accept, but as time went on I came to see how special it made you. You were the sweetest, most content baby but you were also like, a strong, independent woman.    Even as a small child you had a quiet confidence and composure that showed a maturity well beyond your years and it made it very easy to love you. 

Perpetually curious, you see beyond what many kids your age see. A rock isn't just a rock. It's crystals and minerals and atoms and compressed matter and isn't everything sort of a miracle?? 
That curiosity is becoming a rarity. It's so easy to Google something or watch it on a screen that there has been a shift away from experiencing things to just looking them up. It's a mental trick wherein you feel like you're learning or interacting when you're actually only being entertained. Don't fall for it. Technology is a wonderful supplement to life but not a substitute for it. You can read about fireworks and watch videos online, but nothing beats sitting outside and watching the lights and colors explode overhead. Stay curious. Keep trying to learn everything about everything.

  I will probably never change the world.  I'm sort of selfish and lazy and I really hate recycling. (The rinsing, the label peeling, the sorting ....  I'll just stick to burying my cans in the neighbor's yard.)  But you really could, Aidin. You really could do ANYTHING you wanted to. The world is so full of problems and puzzles, just imagine how amazing it would feel to solve some of them. (See above re. the horror of recycling. Something must be done.)  

I love you so much. You're the coolest. You're probably smarter than me and I'm okay with that. Never stop wondering, because when people become bored they become boring.