Dear Phoebe

Dear Phoebe,

Today while I was rocking you to sleep in my arms I looked at you in the mirror and what I saw caught me off guard—you have a cleft lip! Now, I’m not blind. I know that you have a cleft lip. I’ve known that you were going to be born with one ever since you were 20 weeks old and still in my tummy. The thing is, I don’t think about you that way. Your lip does not define you in my mind.

When I think of you, I don’t think of the gap in your lip or the surgery you’re going to have to have. Instead, I think of the cute smiles you make when you see me because you recognize me as “Mom.” I think of how you giggle with Dad, how you love to be with people, or how you calm down when you watching the ceiling fan. I think of how you get fussy sometimes at night or of how sometimes you’ll get this shocked look on your face after you gas as if to say: “Was that me?” I think of camping with you, walking with you, shopping with you, visiting with you, driving with you, laughing with you, loving with you, living with you. I think of so many different things, but rarely do I think of your cleft.

I don’t know how “normal” you’ll look after your surgery in a few months. I hope it goes well and that soon no one will be able to tell that you were ever born looking different than most babies. But regardless of how it turns out, I hope you also never define yourself by your lip, or any other physical feature for that matter—good or bad. Our physical characteristics may describe us, but they do not define us or make us who we really are. Who we are comes from the inside, from things that last. I hope that instead of defining yourself by the shape of your lip you define yourself by the size of your heart. I hope that instead of measuring yourself by the height of your head you measure yourself by the strength of your character. I hope that instead of listening to the lies of Satan that you listen to the whisperings of the Holy Ghost and remember that no matter what, you are always a child of God.

The way you see yourself will determine, in large measure, where life takes you. Instead of going down a road of self-pity and self-consciousness, I want you to live life with confidence and love. The less you focus on yourself and the more you focus on others, the happier you will be. So instead of introducing or thinking of yourself as “the girl with a scar on her lip because she was born with a cleft,” I want you to introduce yourself as “Phoebe Esther Self” without stopping to explain or justify. Just be your best Self, do good, and people will see the real you without you having even said a word. As President Monson says, the future is as bright as your faith. I hope you make yours a bright one.

Love, 

Mom

Phoebe Month Four

Phoebe's personality has really started to shine this past month. She really likes being around groups of people and has even decided to start trying to "talk," or in other words, squeal really loud. It's hilarious, but means that mom has to spend some of sacrament meeting in the hall.

In addition to this, we think she may be teething. She's been drooling, drooling, drooling and chewing on anything she can get her hands on (or if she can't get her hands on anything, just her hands will do).

Bottles? Don't even mention them. She hates them.

Sometimes at night, I feel the effects of "no, this is not an 8-5 job and I still want you to hold me right now please...please....PLEASE!!!" and it can be a little tiring. But then I sit down to compile this collage, or to watch a video of her laughing in the bathtub, or to watch her play with Dad, and suddenly it's all worth it. Motherhood can be exhausting, but what an adorable squish I get to start it all off with, a squish I wouldn't trade the world for!

Halloween 2017

We had a busy and fun Halloween! Jon was a nerd, I was a court jester, and Phoebe was a butterfly. We went to our church's trunk or treat for the evening an passed out candy there. Phoebe was obviously everyone's favorite.

Holly

Terrorizing a fellow third grader is one of the best things I ever did. I don't remember exactly how it happened, but it went something like this:

We were both standing outside of our teachers' doors waiting for the recess bell to ring. Even though we were in different classes, the doors were right next to each other so we were close enough to talk. I don't know who struck up the conversation, but somewhere in the middle of it all I opened my big Mormon mouth and related to this other little girl about how back in the day Mormon pioneers were persecuted, tarred and feathered, and driven out of their homes. I don't think I was graphic, but as this other girl recalls the experience several decades later, she says it kinda freaked her out.

Luckily, it didn't freak her out enough to stop her from talking to me again. That second talk turned into me coming over to play at her house. Which lead to her coming over to mine. Which lead to years of sleepovers, eating lunch together every day in middle school, sharing head lice, birthday parties at the beach, her taking me ice skating for the first time, me dragging her along to church activities, "studying" together, rooming together on high school band and gov & pol trips, keeping in touch after high school, me asking her to be a bridesmaid, me freaking out when she told me she is engaged and an all-around awesome 16 years of being best friends.

Terrorizing nine-year old Holly Engh is one of the best things I ever did because Holly is one of the best people I know and I am grateful to have her as a friend. Growing-up she proved herself to be the perfect partner to have fun with at the park and to talk to about boys with on the weekends. Now that I'm older and we don't get to spend as much time "playing" together, I value her even more not just for what she does, but for who she is. 

Holly is quite possibly the most thoughtful human being I have ever met. Her reaction to me getting pregnant is just one example of this. When I announced Phoebe's birth online she called me (not texted) within five minutes saying that she was so excited. A week later there was a "Glad you're having a baby because the world needs more people like you" card in the mail. From then on she has showered me with love and support in my journey being pregnant and in having baby Phoebe in more ways than one. My personal favorites have been the postcards she has thought to send Phoebe while on vacations--one a few weeks before Phoebe was born and one a few weeks afterwards. She's on her vacation and she stops to take time to think about me and my baby and to send said baby a postcard. Who does that? Oh yeah--Holly.

There are so many other things I like about Holly. She cherishes family. She's hilarious. She hates flying United (not that I have anything about United, but her story about why she hates it is pretty funny). She chooses to be happy regardless of what life throws at her. She lets me pester her about becoming a Mormon. She goes to Disneyland too much. She takes me for who I am.

So while I very much plan on teaching my children to be kind to others and to try and not terrorize their fellow students, if one of them happens to terrify a fellow third grader with a story about how the Mormons got tarred and feathered back in the day, I just might let it slide. The possibility of them getting their own Holly would be too invaluable to interfere with.