journaling for the future

I started a journal for Cha before she was born.  I'd write all the typical pregnancy details, telling her how much she was loved and wanted and then wrote out her birth story and her first few days of life.  The journal includes ramblings on different topics I want her to know, and the 'real story' of things that are happening in her child hood.   Such as, the real reason she's not allowed in a neighbor kid's house (because there are some drug issues and police involvement).

Such is the case for many new moms, I wrote in it pretty regularly for a while.  And then I stopped.   In my mind I didn't realize that I had stopped tho.   Every night when I lay with her, putting her to bed, I write out in my mind journal entries.   I draft them in my head with the intention of getting up once she fell asleep and put them down on paper.   But then I'd fall asleep.

The other night I actually managed to stay awake and after she was out I got up and grabbed the book.   I crept downstairs and sat on the couch to get caught up on my writing.  I still can't believe what I saw.

The last entry in the book was September 29, 2006.   The day of her first birthday.   How is it possible that I haven't written anything in six years?!  What was most disappointing was that I began the journal entry with how I was excited to celebrate her first birthday with.....

Then I stopped mid sentence.   Ugh.   I remember her first birthday clearly, tho I couldn't tell all the details.  The food, the presents, her milestones.  They are a faded memory.  Not that it's necessarily important for her to know these things, but I actually enjoyed reading all the details up til that point.  I had forgotten a bit of what was written, to be honest. 

Such as this....when Cha was three weeks old we drove out west to introduce her to my parents and the rest of the family.  I was a very nervous and unsure new mom and I was having a hard time with breastfeeding and pumping and making sure I wasn't breaking her.  We were driving in Ohio and Cha had a massive blow out so we pulled over so I could change her.  The blow out was so horrific that it was up her shirt, both front and back.  The smell was almost blinding.   I was not the most calm or graceful new mother so changing a mess of a diaper in the back seat of the car (did I mention it was 2 in the morning??) had me frazzled.   Since I was a new mom and lacked experience I failed to pack a plastic bag to dispose of dirty diapers.  There was no way I was going to keep that stink in the car so I threw it over my shoulder, onto the side of the side on the Ohio Turnpike.  And that's when the state patrol pulled up and shined his light on me.   I thought for sure he was going to arrest me for littering, or at least force me to go pick up the diaper.  He got out of his car and started walking up to me.  I cried out that my daughter had gotten sick and I had to change her clothes.  He stopped dead in his tracks and thankfully kept his distance.  He kept the spot light on me and waited for us to finish and drive off before he moved.  

I tell this story to Cha every time we drive out west.   She actually tells the story now and points out where it happened (she claims to remember the spot).  Only it didn't happen in Ohio, it was Indiana, so says the journal.   Thankfully the rest of it is correct.

So the other night I forced myself to stay up late and fill the journal in with the highlights of the last six years.   I only got four years updated and skipped most of the details, which is sad because as they say the beauty is in the details.

Two days ago was the third anniversary of my brother's death.  As expected, it hit me hard.  I talked to Cha about him and I recounted some of my favorite memories.   We talked about the drive out to my parent's house after he died and all the details surrounding that trip (including her calling the St. Louis Arch the castle where her brother lives).  She asked how Uncle Keith died and I told her he was very sick and his body just broke down.  That's enough to hold off a seven year old.   In the journal however I wrote more detailed information regarding mental illness, depression and suicide.   I'm hoping the 20 year old girl I imagine her to be when she reads this book will appreciate the honesty and agree that seven is a bit to young for such heavy topics.  I also want her to know how powerfully strong her grandmother was, and understand how her death hit me so hard.

I'm looking forward to the day when she's old enough for adult conversations.