To her, lest she forgets

taste testing the National Mall

My Little Louise,

It's been a while since I've written you. It's important to me to express you to in written words just how much you fill my heart so if you're ever in doubt years down the road, or you need an extra breeze in your sail, you can find certainty and gentle wind here.

I've looked at you often in the last few days bursting with emotion. I feel the world for you.

I have felt sad that you're not surrounded—nearly bombarded—with so, so many faces who love you, who play with you, who sing to you, who toss you up in the air just to hear your laughter. May you never forget that you are part of a strong family made up of many different parts woven tight to keep you safe and loved.

I have felt excited that you have so much in front of you. You've been around the world and back, and now we're on the other side of the continent you were born on making yet another new home. Your eyes are so wide. You learned the words "bus" and "ambulance" within days of arriving. We've already visited the zoo and a museum. You have made new friends and identified every hat-wearing person on the street with an excited, "HAT!" You're going to grow so much here. And what a great place to grow.

I have felt sorry for you. Always moving. Never settling down. I know just how worn out I get by all of it. I think it must take a toll on you too.

I have felt responsible for you. Not that I don't feel this way always, but I tend to feel an extra weight when we're far away from the village that raised me. I have to sing you all the songs, and read you all the books, and teach you all the things a toddler needs to know—like colors and shapes and animal sounds and when to be quiet and when to run fast. I have to dress you and arm you against the mosquitoes. I have to make sure you're fed and bathed and happy and feel safe. I'm your mama. It's my job, and I love it. It's just my job. (And your dad's). But sometimes the thought that the many hands that helped so much when we were in Utah are too far to reach out here makes me scared.

Above all, I have felt gratitude for you. You wake me each morning, punctuating the ends of all your words with a silly "sth" sound (why do you do this, by the way?). You love me and help me feel place. Not to mention that you truly are the best ambassador your dad and I have. We met dozens of people on Sunday because you wanted to make sure we knew they were wearing a "TIE!" or because they had a little one of their own. You make people laugh and smile. You were blessed once that your light-hearted personality would uplift others. I think you uplift others every day, especially your parents.

What would life be like without you, my Ada Lou?

I love you true.

Love,
your mama

Excerpts: You don't have to die to be reborn

(From a letter to Ada)

When I was only a few months into my pregnancy, a girl asked me if I felt like having a baby meant that in a sense I was dying. She asked if I felt like I wouldn’t be my own person anymore, or if I was scared that I would have to sacrifice to the point of self-destruction. She asked if I thought that I was killing all chances of adventure and opportunity. To be honest, many of these thoughts never crossed my mind when I was expecting you.

I told her that not once had I feared many of these things. I didn’t think that giving birth to a new life would mean the death of my own. I thought it would only add to my person. In regards to sacrifice, I asked her about the Savior: Did his atonement make him less of his own person? Did it diminish him as an individual? Did it take away from who He is? No. Not at all. In fact, I would argue that his sacrifice made him more in almost every capacity you could think of. More unique, more admirable, more powerful, more loving, more understanding, more forgiving . . . If motherhood could deepen any of these traits in me, then I wanted it even more than I already did. The sacrifice that motherhood calls for can be a tool for self-creation.

I expected a rebirth, of sorts, but I didn’t think I had to die to be reborn. I told her that some parts of me might die, but they are parts I’ve been trying to kill off for years: the selfish part of me; the isolationist part of me; the impatient part of me . . .

I did admit though, that I was scared that my plans for graduate school or my goals to travel would be left as only dim flashes of my girl-heart dreams.

If there is one (additional) lesson I’ve learned in the last 3 years it is that life always surprises you. It got married young. I got pregnant quickly. I had a beautiful daughter named, Ada. I graduated and spoke at commencement. We’re moving to Italy. I am going to paint (I am going to paint! I am going to paint!) again. I’m going to learn another language. And all the while I get to have you along with me. I can't remember feeling more alive. This I know is true: Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine ownunderstanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct they paths.