Open Letter to Baby L: Brother Arrives!

Dear Lilah,

Today, you are 13.5 months old. I am probably going to be a little more lax (hard to believe, eh?) on writing your letters now for a couple of reasons: First, you’re a big girl now, and probably don’t need monthly updates anymore. You know, because I plan to do this until you are an adult. And can you imagine the crazy volume of letters? Yeah. I doubt you will even want to read through the first year. And second, we recently brought home your baby brother. And he needs something constantly and you are a maniac. So…I scarcely have time to pee. And really, let me just tell you that I have to pee right now and I have been holding it and trying to make sure you don’t bust your head open for the last hour. At least. But writing is important. And your brother is sleeping. So I may never have another opportunity.

Anyway, yeah. You are 13.5 months old. Since you turned one, a lot of stuff has happened. Right before your first birthday, you took your first unassisted steps. But then you sat on that skill until I was sufficiently stressed and unable to tend to you 24 hours per day and then broke out into a run. Honestly, you started walking on the same day that your brother’s nasty belly button grossness fell off and he was having his newborn photos taken, so I think that you were just trying to show him up. Like, “Oh yeah?! Photos and belly button grossness, eh?! Well, look what I CAN DO!” And then you went for a jog. The end.

Now you get into everything. And you say, “Oh shit!” on a consistent basis. And I am not sure where this came from because I don’t think that either me nor your father says that…like…ever (I suspect your Grandma J and Grandpa M, because that is pretty commonplace around their house.). I would have been less surprised if you started calling people “fucktard” out of the window of my car when I take you to see your grandma. Because, THAT would be JUST like your mother. True story.

You are just now, three weeks later, starting to be a little interested in Oliver. I repeat his name to you SO MANY times per day and tell him that he is your brother. You like to stroke his head like he is your little pet kitten or something. It is super cute but you are showing, at times, that all this attention he is getting is starting to piss you off, so I am a little worried that sometimes this nice stroking of the head you are doing will eventually turn into you trying to flush him down the toilet. I’m gonna have to watch you pretty close, I think. You really like to be the center of attention. And the way you dance, little lady, it is no wonder that you almost always are.

You eat ALL THE TIME. And some days, you love turkey hot dogs and mac and cheese and other days, if I try to put those things in front of you, they promptly end up on the floor underneath your high chair. And some days you like peaches. And other days, you fling tiny pieces of them at my head while I attempt to clean up the giant disaster that you have created in every other area of the house. You like liquids. To drink. To spill. To splash in. You are a hot mess.

You are definitely and officially a toddler. And you definitely keep us on our toes.

But you are hilarious and so much fun. And sometimes so defiant that I can’t help but laugh my face off at you when I tell you no and you shake your head “no”, indicating to me that you understand, and then you continue, with a ferocious will, to do whatever it was you were doing in the first place. And it makes me insane but it makes me so happy that you are such a little person. I look at your brother, the meatloaf, and I can barely remember you being that small and helpless. It is so crazy to think that just a year ago, you weren’t dancing around the living room to any tune that happened to be playing on TV or my iPod or, like, if I am humming. You are just so much fun and even when I am trying to do 87  things and you are emptying the entire contents of the DVD stand onto the floor and I know that I am going to have to pick everything up (along with the Cheerios which are constantly littered EVERYWHERE), I am just so happy to have you. You bring out the best in me. Even when I want to pull all of my hair out. Because I would be bald. But I would be bald and happy. And SO SO SO proud that you are my beautiful, hilarious, brilliant little girl.

As always, you’re freaking amazing and I love you to pieces. Sometimes, I still look at you and tear up and the thought that I didn’t think that I wanted to have kids. And then there was you. And I can’t imagine a life without you. A world without you would not be worth living in. There would be far fewer Cheerios on the floor, but it wouldn’t be worth it. Besides, every floor needs a little crunch. And ours is totally crunchtastic. Thank you, my little love.


SO MUCH love,


A box of Cheerios breakfast cereal.

A box of Cheerios breakfast cereal. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)



8 thoughts on “Open Letter to Baby L: Brother Arrives!

  1. Oh my god the CHEERIOS. My house is covered in them too. And then the baby eats them off the floor and I think I should be concerned but I’m like “meh”. Ah, Mommyhood. 🙂

    • Uggghhhh! No climbing yet. Unless you count me. She tries to climb me any time I am standing and her preference seems to be when I am holding Oliver. Which is super fun. But yeah, I’m totally not looking forward to her becoming a daredevil. It scares te bejesus out of me!

  2. And ours is crunchtastic! Aw, I loved all of this, and it comes at a really good time as I almost nailed my kid to the wall today out of frustration… I think I’ll go hug the little bugger right now – lord knows he ain’t napping like I asked him to an hour and a half ago. Sigh. Thanks for the post. Sooooo great. And needed. You’re doing your part to support the masses out here in the interweb!

  3. WordPress suggested you to me, and so I come over to see what;’s what and LO! I was going to name my daughter (now 9 months) Lila after my great grandmother. THEN I scroll down and see you had a baby boy that you call Baby O, which is what we call my daughter because we ended uip naming her Olive, instead.
    And THEN I realized two more things:
    1. You have a 13.5 month old and a newborn. WHUT. How did this happen? How are you alive? Can I send you wine?
    and 2. You recently described yourself as “crying like a little bitch” when Lilah started walking and-yes. Me. Forever. My Facebook status should just always read “Crying like a little bitch”.

    • Wow! That is QUITE the coincidence because Baby O’s actual name is Oliver! (I LOVE the name Olive also, so adorable!)
      1. Yes. I have an almost 14 month old daughter and a one month old son. And, please believe me when I tell you, we used ALL SORTS of precautionary measures so we wouldn’t end up with two babies this close together. My husband has superhuman sperm. This could be TMI but it is the only explanation I have to give. I am alive. I am sleep deprived and crazy, but I am making it work! Yes. SEND WINE! lol
      2. Glad I am not alone on that. I seriously don’t know if it ever ends, either. I mean, I am obviously worse right now with all these crazy hormones and stuff…but it just never stops. I haven’t cried at a commercial in almost a week though. Progress.

      Thanks for reading!!! XO!

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