A Vivid Imagination

Our three year old daughter has an imaginary friend.

Six months ago, while playing in the park with her father, she looked up and out into the open space beyond the swings, pointed with vigor and yelled, "Daddy! There's Chasey Boom!"

Perplexed, my husband asked all the important questions about Chasey Boom to discover that he was a pink dog that liked suckers, drove a red car and had, apparently, come to the park that day to swing.

That night, when our child was tucked in her bed with her stuffed bear, her doll, and what is apparently a large, pink canine, we did an extensive Google search for the term "Chasey Boom." We were surprised to find this is not a character in a book, it is not an irritating television show on Nick Jr., and it is not a proprietary name of a trendy new toy.

Nope.

Chasey Boom is all Lowery.

For the past six months we've observed our child's interaction with Chasey Boom and learned a great deal about him. For starters, Chasey Boom's hair turns brown at night, but is pink again by sun up. He is scared of spiders, loves to swing really high and enjoys bath time. He's shy, but funny. Thin, but a big eater. And, he has, apparently, sired all the stuffed animals in my child's toy chest, with the exception of the fuzzy giraffe, which Lowery claims "is a stray we took in." We aren't entirely sure he's even a male because Lowery doesn't quite have her pronouns down. All we know is that "She is a boy."

Chasey Boom is not a family pet, however. Only Lowery has control. Jim and I lack the ability to add to his character's behavior. If we are trying to get her in the car and say something like, "Hurry up, Lowery! Chasey Boom is waiting!" She will stop and say, "That can't be. He's at the gym."

Lowery herself is an extremely layered character.

While she is willful and independent, she still responds to reason and discipline. While she's outgoing and fearless, she has her moments of timidity. She likes to be the center of attention, but she's extremely empathetic. She's active, but not hyper. She's verbal, but not bratty. Brilliant, but still funny. Happy, but not easy going.

To me, she is magical.

Lowery's influence over me is substantial. From the moment I gave birth to her, Lowery has evoked in me an extremely strong reaction: she elicits energy. Often, this is positive. Any time I am near her, or sometimes just thinking of her, my heart races. I feel a flutter in my chest. This child excites, energizes and emboldens me more than any other person in my life. I feed off her energy and charisma.

However, energy can manifest itself in negative ways as well. While my eldest does bring spirit and sparkle into my life, she also brings agitation and tension.

Lowery is insatiable at times. She's particular. And demanding. While she's always upbeat and happy, she's rarely completely satisfied. So, an afternoon with my child can be exciting and electrifying. But it can also be challenging and unsettling.

She began talking at 8 months of age. And she still hasn't stopped. While her verbal skills are certainly remarkable, they are also extremely grating. From the moment she wakes up our child is talking. We have to force her to stop just to take a bite to eat. She asks question after question and demands thoughtful responses. As the day wears on, the constant murmur of my child's sweet voice becomes akin to a small gnat buzzing in the ear. So by Sunday, after three full days of hearing every single emotion, thought, sight, sound and taste my child has experienced, I can barely find the will to throw her in bed and say the words I've been longing to say all day: "It's quiet time now." But even then, she talks in her sleep.

I appreciate that I always know what is going on with my child. Like me, she can only cope with emotions by vocalizing them. But with Lowery, there is no down time. There's no deep breath. There's no quiet moment. Even though she can concentrate heavily on certain activities, like painting or Legos, she still narrates everything she's doing and demands you take part in the imagery.

So while my eldest child can pump me full of energy and excitement, she gives me no time to absorb it. Instead, she turns to me, extends her arm and claps her fingertips to her palm and says "Come on!" without realizing I need a moment to digest my feelings. Rest my feet. Shut my mouth. Empty my bladder.

London, on the other hand, is unflappable. London is expressive, but relaxed. She babbles and coos, but she does so in a whisper. She's animated, but calm. She is a heavy sleeper, a great eater, a gentle crier, and she's easy to satisfy.

To me, she is mystical.

London's influence over me is significant. She evokes in me a powerful reaction: she conjures calmness. While Lowery energizes me in various ways, London instantly soothes me. To look at London, to hold her, to be near her, I find myself relaxed, comforted and at ease. This child assures me more than any person in my life. I appreciate her quietude and am enchanted by her serenity.

Within the first few weeks of London's life, I felt the energy in myself shift. Though the post partum depression I experienced with Lowery only lasted six months, it wasn't until I held London for the first time that I truly felt it disappear. The relief of that heaviness--that energy, that anxiety that I had unknowingly still been carrying--was momumental.

The shift in myself and the ease with which I could satisfy my newborn had me convinced there was an enormous medical problem. I made an appointment with our children's pediatrician and had her give our newborn a thorough examination, to which she concluded that London was a happy, healthy and beautiful child. I refused her diagnosis. What explains why she sleeps so well and is so damn calm? The doctor laughed at my question, but then assured me that the only thing I was experiencing with London was luck.

Since the birth of my first child, and the unending anxiety that followed, I was suddenly aware of the substantial amount of tension I've carried around. It didn't occur to me, until I left the office with my youngest baby's clean bill of health, that I had been holding my breath for three years.

And, for the first time, I felt myself finally relax into motherhood.

Lowery made me a mother. Not just because of a technicality, but because the last three years have been an ongoing battle between the two of us. She's demanded my attention, challenged my self-esteem, battled my ambitions and held a mirror up to me by embodying so many of my personality traits.

She's made me earn the title.

And London taught me to enjoy the moments I once found so unnerving. To calm myself by watching her example. To recognize the serenity I possess in myself by reminding me what it looks like.

She made me love the title.

And then there's Chasey Boom. A character created deep in the recesses of my firstborn's vivid imagination. A character for whom we have to save a seat at the dinner table. A character whose hair I've had to do alongside Lowery's in the morning. A character I've kissed goodnight for the last six months. A character who, coincidentally enough, always gets in trouble at the exact time Lowery does so they must take their time outs together.

It is not lost on me that Chasey Boom came to life during my pregnancy with London. Which is why I give Chasey Boom most of the credit for Lowery's mature acceptance of, and graceful transition into, sisterhood.

It's as if Lowery, a person who lives her life excitedly outward, had to search inward for something that would give her exactly what she needed to fulfill an emotional ache that couldn't be soothed by me or her father. She needed someone very specific, someone magical and mystical, to round out her needs. To challenge her way of being. To accept her and all her energetic ways. And to help her cope when energy fails her.

I understand and appreciate her motives. I too, created a couple of creatures I assumed might influence me in beautiful and wonderful ways.

But this is so much more than I ever imagined.