Category Archives: Parenthood

To Work, Or Not to Work

Yo Gabba Gabba!

Yo Gabba Gabba! (Photo credit: Faceless Librarian)

I’ve been thinking a lot about going back to work.

Not because I am not enjoying being puked on and yelled at by tiny people all day or anything. And not because I don’t love “Yo Gabba Gabba” or waking up in the middle of the night with L to play. Or doing 37 daily loads of laundry. Because these things are fine. And the baby snuggles make all of that totally worth it.

Honestly, though, I think that, with MB working the schedule that he currently is, we’re just stretching ourselves too thin. We would both like to go back to school as soon as possible and we would like to have a lot more time to spend together and with the kids as a family. But right now, there just isn’t any time. I see MB for no more than one hour per night (usually at around 9 PM) and then one day per week, he is off. (And that doesn’t happen EVERY week.) So, that ONE DAY, we have to squeeze in all of the chores that we haven’t gotten to during the week, any family time we want to have, fun things with the kids, any alone time we might get, sleeping, and visiting with other members of the family. I don’t know if anyone told you, internet, but days only contain 24 hours. And that’s not a whole lot of hours for all that stuff. Considering that I haven’t yet figured out how to do anything else while also sleeping. (Which, seriously, you guys, would be amazeballs and I would be SUCH A ROCKSTAR if I could learn how to do that.) MB gets to spend so little time with the kids and I know that it is killing him to miss all the fun stuff that they are learning to do every day. But it is stressful on me too. And I am sure those of you who are SAHMs can agree that this job is super hard in and of itself. And I am sure that you will also agree that having a partner, even just in the evenings and on weekends doesn’t relieve all of the stress of the day, but it helps Mommy to be sane. And that, my friends, is important. Because if Mommy is wearing a straight-jacket, who is going to make the mac and cheese?

MB’s job is demanding. The pay is pretty good. But it is hardly worth having to sacrifice our time as a family to have a few extra dollars that we don’t have time to spend. It has been really hard on all of us.  But I really don’t know what the solution is at this point.

I am really not at all interested in putting my kids in daycare. In fact, I am super opposed to it. Not because all daycares are bad or scary or whatever, but because of my own experience in childhood. I have almost ZERO memories of hanging out with either of my parents when I was small. I remember my grandparents. And my uncle. And a daycare. And it wasn’t a bad childhood and that is not at all what I am saying. I just want my kids to have memories of…you know…ME. Playing with them. Taking them to the zoo. Playing hopscotch on the driveway. Not doing all of those things solely with other people. I want to be the one they remember. Or, I at least want to play a larger role than my parents did in my early years. (This was not their fault. My dad was in culinary school in New York and my mom was working full-time for next to nothing to keep us fed…) And I wouldn’t even mind so much if I was a close second to their dad. Because, obvs, that is equally important.

So, I am back on the hunt for a job. Ideally, one of us will work and the other will stay home with the kids and go to school. And I guess, what it comes down to, is that whichever one of us can make the most money will work, and the other will stay home and possibly work part-time if need be. I just don’t want to settle for some job that sucks all of the life out of me and leaves nothing for my littles. Because I am doing everything for them. I don’t want them to have memories of an overworked, miserable lady. And I don’t want MB to be that guy either. In a perfect world, I would be working from home, MB would work part-time and stay home with the kids while taking some classes on-line and we could just…SPEND SOME EFFING TIME TOGETHER. Hell, I’ve almost forgotten what he looks like.

Send us some good juju, internet. We just have to figure it all out. I just want my family. Together.

 

Jinxed

This part of the post was written a few days ago. And it has pretty much been this long since they have slept. At least, that’s how it feels.

I have been trying to get Baby O to sleep for the past two hours. He will only nap while I am holding him and I am currently sitting quietly just a few feet away from him, trying to pretend I don’t see him staring at me from his swing (which is so worn out, it no longer swings) with that “so when are you planning to pick me up?” look on his face. I remember these days all too well with L. You know, when it would take three hours to get her to sleep and then she would humor me for exactly 23 minutes and give me a break. Long enough to pee and sit down just long enough to find something I wanted to watch on TV, only to immediately hear her screaming again as soon as I breathed that sigh of sweet “baby is sleeping” relief and settled on a re-run of “Sex and the City“.

I can’t really complain about Baby O too much. He sleeps, usually, really well at night. Like, 10-12 hours on most nights. Very seldom does he wake up in the night to be fed or changed or anything. I think he realizes how much his sister does this and tries to do what he can to help me maintain some level of sanity. And I appreciate it. But as he gets older, and sleeps less during the day, I am finding it harder and harder to find a second for myself.

I manage pretty well, I think, for someone who is high strung and who has a really hard time just “rolling with the punches”. I mean, a four month old and a seventeen month old is no cake walk. The morning routine, alone, is sometimes enough to make me throw up my hands and surrender.

Nap time used to be my “me time”. And now, I can’t get them both to do it simultaneously. L, having previously been my problem napper, has become some kind of lovely little angel most of the time when I lay her down, still awake, in her crib (if you can believe this!) and Baby O babbles and babbles and insists on being held for the entirety of L’s nap, making it impossible to just…relax.

Skipping ahead a couple of days:

Okay, I have to be honest. I don’t even remember the last few days. There really isn’t much distinction between them these days seeing as I spend EVERY SINGLE DAY fighting the same battles of mommy-hood and waiting for Sunday when my husband MIGHT be home to help out. But I can tell you this, remember up there when I said that L was a great napper? Well, I lied. She is hateful. She is trying to make me crazy today. I am sure of it. (It is absolutely true that the INSTANT you start talking about how well your child is sleeping, they STOP DOING THAT.)

I have been attempting to get L to nap now for the last two hours. Which is only half true. Because I got her up and gave her a snack and some milk and then started the process all over again. And, she isn’t currently screaming. So, I can’t really say anything else about it. But, of course, the second I got L to ZIP IT and lay in her bed, Baby O woke up and started getting restless. And is now sitting beside me, refusing a bottle and whining. Because, he is dry, clearly not hungry, not tired and refuses to play with anything. Or take his pacifier.

It is gonna be a long week, internet. A LONG WEEK.

An Open Letter to the Preggos (This One’s for you, Anna)

Dear Preggos (Mostly you, Anna),

I wanted to write you a letter because I feel that you are about to go through something that no one can really prepare you for. Something that you will remember for the rest of your life. Something that will be the most traumatic, yet ridiculously beautiful thing that will ever happen to you and your body. And no one can tell you how profound it will be. But I am stubborn. And I’m going to try.

First off, I want to let you know that everyone fears childbirth because the idea of squeezing that little person out of your vagina is a big deal. And when I say “big deal”, I mean it. Because, and I’m not gonna lie, that shit hurts. But, don’t worry, you won’t even remember that part. I mean, you won’t REALLY remember it. Because the adrenalin makes you a beast of a person and it will feel like hell but it will feel like you could seriously move mountains if you wanted to. (They won’t let you attempt that, anyway. You are pretty much confined to a bed. But you are a strong ass bitch.) So, you will have this vague memory afterward of this pushing and this nurse yelling at you and you wanting to rip her face off. But in the end, you will have a baby. And, I mean, seriously, what is better than that? Unless you happen to give birth to, like, a suitcase full of money instead. Because, holy shitballs, that would have been awesome. Anyway…yeah. It hurts. But it is a small price to pay. So get over that fear and accept the reality that that little thing is coming out. Whether you like it or not. You will sleep easier. I promise.

Secondly, I feel it is imperative that you know that parenting is super hard. Like, harder than being pregnant. (Which, if you ask me, is the worst fucking thing EVAR, because you have all this stress and no one will bring you a cocktail.) You bring this little meatloaf home from the hospital and you, if you were like me, are totally clueless as to what to do with it. And I read everything. And it didn’t matter. I was a total wreck for weeks. Because just when you think you got this thing all figured out, it does something new. Like, changing its sleep pattern. Or growing a tooth. Or going from being the happiest baby ever, to being a screaming, inconsolable monster. Because all of that happens. And no day is the same as the day previous. Ever.

Thirdly, you probably have this idea of how you will raise your kid. You know, like you won’t use a pacifier because nipple confusion, blah blah blah. Or you will only breastfeed. Because, after all, breast is best. But that baby doesn’t care about your plans. Sometimes, you have to find some way to plug that baby’s pie hole long enough so that your head doesn’t explode. And sometimes, breastfeeding is harder than you had anticipated. And you might do it, and if you can, you are my hero. Because I couldn’t make it happen with either of mine for varying reasons. I did it. But not for as long as I wanted to. And not for lack of trying. Those babies just had other plans. And guess what! They both use a pacifier and drink formula. And they’re alive. And they are thriving. And its okay. And you might be disappointed in yourself for giving in or not doing everything the way you had intended. But…seriously? Shit happens. And you just do the best you can. And that’s all anyone (including you) can expect.

You are going to have some days where you will want to run away from home. And you will feel like shit about feeling that way. But believe me, it happens to the best of us. (In fact, early this morning, I almost escaped through my bedroom window while both of the kids demanded things as I tried to get ANY amount of sleep to prepare me for the day ahead, wherein they would demand MORE THINGS…) Sometimes, you will want to jam sharp things into your ears to stop the noise. And sometimes, you will consider crawling into the oven. Because, motherhood is not a joke. And its all okay. Because then, that baby will look up at you, totally helpless and totally beautiful and innocent, and you will fall in love all over again. And you will. Again. And again. And again. Because you are a mom. And that’s what that means.

Sometimes, when I am having a hard time, and it is the middle of the night and someone is refusing to sleep. Or someone has a fever. And my husband is sleeping and I feel like I am all alone and it will never END, I have to take a step back and remind myself what a beautiful thing I have done by having these babies. I have to remember the first time I saw their little faces and how much I loved them, even then. And how smart and amazing they are. Which is sometimes easier said than done when you are sleep deprived and frustrated and haven’t washed your hair in four days. But it is all worth it, you guys, seriously.

My advice to you (especially you, Anna) is to remember, through all the crazy and even if you feel totally alone, that it will pass. And tomorrow is a new day. And while this is the hardest thing you will ever do, it is the most important. And the most wonderful. And you aren’t alone. (And if you ever need reassurance of that, you guys, I will be right here, blogging about being puked on and having been up for 72 hours straight. Don’t worry.)

Good luck to you!

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An Open Letter to Baby O: Four Months

Dear Ollie,

Tomorrow you will be four whole months old. And, I’d like to also point out that, while I can hardly believe that you are already this old, I can also hardly believe how you LOOK like you are NINE months old. You are huge. HUGE. (I will find out tomorrow at your check-up just HOW huge. But huge.)

I also think you are teething. Which also blows my mind because, Good GOD, kid, SLOW DOWN. What are you trying to do to me? With teething comes a lot of not sleeping. And drooling. And trying to gnaw your own appendages off. Which SUCKS for me because I have your big sister trying to climb the walls and rearranging the kitchen (read: dragging all of the pots, pans and Tupperware into the living room and banging it against the coffee table). The gnawing thing is pretty cute, but you are a soggy, soggy baby, Ollie.

You smile and giggle a lot now (when you aren’t shoving things into your mouth or screaming about the gums) and you are happy most of the time. Which is so great because if you were anything like your sister was, I would already have been institutionalized.

You found your feet a few days ago and you were so excited when you finally managed to grab ahold of one of them that I thought you might poop. It is so funny to think that I just watched Lilah do all of this same stuff a little over a year ago and she’s so big and all over the place now. It just reaffirms for me that time goes by super fast and before I know it, you’re going to be toddling all over the place too. (I am not sure that “toddling” is an actual word. But I like it. And it very much describes what your sister does.)

You make me so happy, Little Man. You are the spitting image of your daddy and you are just so freaking adorable that sometimes I am worried I might actually eat you. (I PROBABLY won’t eat you. But I can’t make any promises because you are just THAT YUMMY.) Sometimes I feel a little bit of guilt for having you so soon after having your sister because I wonder if I am giving you all the attention that you need but you seem to be happy and thriving just like you should be. It helps that you are not as much of a total spaz as your sister was/is. You are patient when she is destroying the house and I have to put you down to “regulate” the situation.

You are a good boy. You are handsome and strong and a joy and you’re all mine. I love you, little guy.
Always,

Mom

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Survival

So, I did it. I decided that, instead of letting my mom take both kids to visit my sister, I would let her take L, since she is older and super hyper and I thought that she would have a good time running around at someone else’s house for a change. And you know, chasing pets around and things like that.

She left Friday afternoon and will be back in about four hours. At first, I seriously didn’t think I would make it. She woke up from her nap on Friday and I cried my face off while I was changing her diaper. She, of course, thought that this was hysterically funny. And then I watched my mom get her into the van and drive away. And then I cried my face off again.

Surprisingly, after she was gone, and as long as I was getting constant updates via text message, I was okay. I mean, it was so strangely quiet in my house that I wasn’t sure what to do with myself. And the lack of Cheerios on the floor was daunting. But, we made it. Baby O and I cuddled and cuddled and played and played. And he made more noise than he ever has in his life. Most likely because, for the first time ever, he could HEAR himself.

The news here, internet, is that I made it. And I got to spend a lot of time bonding with my little dude and hanging out with adults. (I know! Weird, right? I didn’t have to spoon feed ANY OF THEM.) It was a damn good weekend. And now, though I don’t feel as relaxed as maybe I should, I am fully prepared to see my little L and kiss her face off.

But, I survived!

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  • Dilemma (brokencondoms.wordpress.com)

Dilemma

So, I have this dilemma.

I desperately need some sleep. And not just a couple of hours. Like, I need sleeeeeeeep, you guys. I need to not wake up to an alarm a baby demanding something. I need to have one morning where I can wake up and have a cup of coffee and watch Today without having to also sing the ABC song on repeat while changing a diaper and trying to simultaneously find out what’s trending on Twitter. Okay, the Twitter thing is not important and a lot of the shit I see on Today is fluff and I don’t mind not being able to hear it over myself singing the ABC song. And I know, you guys, ALL parents want these moments. I KNOW, okay? I am not trying to play martyr and swear that I need it more because two kids under the age of two and OH MY GOD, the torture, or anything. I love being a stay-at-home-mom. Really. I do.

But I am not my best self. I am tired and cranky and potentially about to have a breakdown if I have to make my 16-month-old three different lunches again in order to find something she will put INTO HER MOUTH instead of ONTO THE FLOOR. Because holding a cranky 3-month-old while doing so is NO JOKE. So…I need a break.

And, miraculously, my mom and sister have generously offered me one. My mom and step-dad are taking a trip to visit my sister this upcoming weekend and they have offered to take BOTH of the kids with them. Leaving me alone. (I mean, basically, since MB works ALL THE TIME.) Blissfully ALONE. My dilemma is that I am TERRIFIED to let them go. I have never been away from Baby O for more than a few hours and L is such a monster sometimes that I would feel guilty about knowingly letting someone else take her for several days. Because I know what kind of a sleeper she is. I also know what that does to her mood. And I know that sometimes it makes ME crazy and I MADE her. So I can only imagine how other people will react to it.

On the one hand, I feel like it would be good for me. I mean, the kids would come back and I would have missed them terribly but have had time to get all rejuvenated and stuff. I would be like a new mommy. And I would appreciate that. And I am sure that they would too! Robot Mommy can’t be too much fun.

But, on the other hand, three days is a long time! I don’t know what I would do with myself without them. (I mean, besides cleaning, reading, sleeping, having adult conversations, going out to dinner, peeing alone, showering…probably several times per day just to get my fill, eating hot food while sitting, not sweeping the floor 37 times before noon, I could go on.)  I feel a little lost thinking about how empty the house will be without them here. How my clothes won’t smell like spit-up and how the lack of thin layer of Cheerios on the floor will make me feel. My tiny BFFs will be GONE. That’s just sad.

Also, and MOSTLY, what if something happens and I am not there?! OH. EM. GEE. You guys. Seriously. WHAT IF SOMETHING HAPPENS?

What do I DO, you guys? Do I let them take my spawn for several days and get this much needed break? Or do I keep the reigns in place and just try and maintain!?

 

An Open Letter to My Kids: A Mommy’s Plea

Dear Kiddos,

I want to preface this letter by telling you how much I adore both of you. You are the center of my universe and your smiles are the most beautiful things I have ever seen. You make every day fun and interesting and pretty damn hilarious and, for that, I am so grateful.

But…

You are being total assholes.

You have been taking turns driving Mommy batshit insane for days on end and you seem to have no remorse. You wait until the other is content (for the 3.5 minutes that this will last) and then you scream your bloody head off and create havoc until I calm you down. And then the other one of you starts. You do this for hours. And hours. AND HOURS. Until Mommy is almost bald and considering padding the whole house, not only for easier childproofing but for protection for herself for when she completely loses it. Padded rooms are supposed to be safer for crazy people, I hear.

Mommy is not a terribly patient person to begin with. She likes quiet and alone time and reading books. She doesn’t get any of that anymore and has dealt with it rather well considering that one of you is a little tornado who NEVER. SITS. DOWN. and the other is a tiny, brand new nugget who needs constant attention in order to become another tiny tornado down the road. Mommy is tired and cranky and spends the majority of her time dreaming of enough time to take a hot, glorious shower. One where she might even SHAVE HER LEGS.

There is not enough wine in the state of Florida for Mommy this week, you guys. You have to tone down the crazy-pants. Or Mommy’s head will explode.

Your dad is a marvelous man and is a wonderful father, but has been working many, many hours per week to make sure that Mommy can stay home and keep you alive and not have to leave you with strangers or people who can’t handle the crazy. This leaves Mommy alone with you both for 16 hours per day. 16 hours is a really long time. And being that one of you (probably the one who shouldn’t be yet, but is, obviously, wise beyond his months) is sleeping 9 hours per night and the other (who will remain nameless, LILAH.) refuses to sleep in her crib for more than five straight hours at night without pitching the world’s largest fit until being invited to sleep in Mommy and Daddy’s room where she will torment us with feet of steel (seriously, how are those little kicks NOT LITTLE KICKS?) to the kidneys for hours and then resort to head butting and sitting on our faces, Mommy is EXHAUSTED.

Mommy wants to finish ONE CUP of coffee while it is still hot. Mommy wants to eat a meal while sitting down. Mommy wants to shave her effing legs. Or pee without an audience. Just once. Maybe twice per day. Mommy wants to put on mascara and not read a book that does not involve red fish and blue fish or cats in hats and the like. Mommy needs David Sedaris, you guys. Can I read “Naked” to you? Because I’ve gotten to page 14 and it has been three weeks.

Again, I love you guys. It is the kind of patient, unyielding love that I never expected to feel. But seriously, you guys, throw Mommy a bone here and GO THE EFF TO SLEEP. Like, at the same time, and for a couple of hours. Consecutively. My legs are a forest.

Thanks.

 

Love,

Mommy

 

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Fixed

So, some of you might remember the post where I talked about deciding on the Essure procedure as my form of permanent sterilization. And how it sort of seemed like I was having to mourn the use of my lady parts.

Well, internet, last Friday? I did it. I don’t have a lot to say about the actual procedure because, just as I was told and had read, there really wasn’t much to it. The worst part was the two nurses and doctor attempting to get the pain medication into my body. Because if I didn’t know better, I would think I was completely vein-less. But, once the medications were in and I was sufficiently HIGH, the procedure lasted all of five minutes. And then a team of professionals (read: family members who didn’t want me to fall asleep while bathing children) stepped in for the rest of the day and watched the kids so I could sleep it all off. But seriously, you guys, five minutes. The end.

I mentioned in the previous post that being sterilized was a little bittersweet. And not because I want any more kids. Because oh HELLS NO. But because it sort of seemed, when I thought about it, that part of my femininity was being stripped away with this procedure. Now, I know, I know, that’s not the case. But it sort of feels like it.

When MB got home from work that night, I beamed at him, “I’m FIXED!” and he said, “How do you feel about that?” And I told him that it is sort of sad. Sort of like a goodbye to fertility. Which is such a strange feeling. To know that I won’t ever be able to conceive again, while it is a total RELIEF, is pretty serious business. Because it is FOREVER. And that’s…you know…pretty damn permanent. So I spent a little while thinking about it. And coming to terms with it. And I know I made the right decision here. Because I have these two beautiful kids. One of each. And they are my everything. And I really couldn’t ask for anything more. And if I accidently GOT anything more, I might really go batshit crazy if I haven’t already.  I don’t need any more crazy, you guys. We’re all full up on crazy over here.

So…there ya have it. I went and did it. I’m fixed!

Black Market Kidneys: A Post About Whining

Okay, internet, let’s talk about whining.

I hate whining. I hate it more than I hate tomatoes. And I REALLY hate tomatoes. And, while I know that kids have to LEARN to use their words (or learn their words before they can USE them), I am not a fan of this stage that Baby L is going through.

Seriously, you guys. I have seriously considered running away from home.

She whines when I hold Baby O because, OHMYGOD, NO ONE IS PAYING ATTENTION TO ME! And she whines when she drops something. You know because OHMYGOD, HOWEVER WILL I RETRIEVE IT!? DAMN GRAVITY! And she whines when she is tired. Because OHMYGOD, SLEEPING IS AWFUL BUT I CAN BARELY KEEP MY EYES OPEN! And she whines when she is hungry. Or someone leaves the room (which is not limited to myself or her father, by the way.) Or when something is on TV that she does not approve of (which includes anything that does not involve a tall, bumpy red guy). Or when I won’t let her stick things in the toilet. Or when the toilet lid is closed, therefore preventing her from putting items in said toilet. She whines about EVERYTHING. And, while she does this for small portions of the day and for the rest of the day is cute and cuddly and so effing hilarious, I am sort of tempted to whine back. Like, “I don’t WAAAAAAANNA make you lunch!” or “I don’t WAAAAAAANNA give you a bath!” but I feel that somehow this would be lost on her. She’d probably think it was the funniest thing I have ever done. Much like the other day when I accidentally inhaled my coffee instead of drinking it (because it is just as essential as air and I got confused) and then choked and almost died while she laughed hysterically because her mommy is hilarious when she is choking to death.

Baby L is a “troubled sleeper”. And by “troubled sleeper”, I mean a tiny monster who does not need to sleep but survives off of the sleep deprivation of her parents. Sometimes I believe she must be overtired. And I can’t imagine how she wouldn’t be. I mean, lately (and I blame molars) she has been taking one nap a day, and this nap lasts less than two hours and then she is a little ball of crazy energy for the rest of the day. And then she fights me at bed time. (Why do kids hate sleeping, you guys? I love sleeping. I love sleeping so much that I am inching closer to selling a kidney on the black market for one blissful day with no kids and nothing but slumber. Craigslist ad would read: Will exchange kidney for 24 hours of babysitting for tiny cyclone and three-month-old meatloaf. Blood type – O positive. Will exchange both kidneys for one week. Dialysis is no joke but I won’t need kidneys if I die of exhaustion, anyway.)

The sleeping thing is all normal. But the whining? That’s new. I am not really sure what to do about it. At about 13 months, she started throwing little temper tantrums (not like, hurling herself onto the ground and flailing like a maniac) but I could tell that she was testing me to see if it was easier for her to get what she wanted if she acted like a little lunatic. Those passed, for the most part, fairly quickly. But now, she is just living up to her title “Princess Cranky Pants” and making me wonder how old she has to be before I can send her to boarding school. In Finland.

So, my question to you, internet? Have you had this problem? Does it go away or have you had to sell your kidneys on Craigslist? How did you deal with it?

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An Open Letter to Baby O: Three Months

Dearest Oliver,

Today, you are three whole months old! And you are alive! And aside from the cradle cap that will not die, you are doing wonderfully! You smile and coo and sleep through the night most of the time and you are just a little nugget of happy!

At your last checkup, about a month ago, you were already a whopping 12 pounds, 5 ounces and were 20.5 inches long. Meaning that you are growing SUPER fast and getting into that chunky baby phase where people are compelled to touch your cheeks. Constantly. I am not immune. I pinch your little cheeks and kiss your little toes and sing you ridiculous songs. Songs that sometimes involve water buffalo. And then I ask myself, “Will you ever sing normal songs again, Crazy Lady?” to which I answer, “Who cares?” Because you are growing up so fast and I know you will never enjoy water buffalo songs as much as you do right now.

I have to tell you, I am definitely exhausted. I chase your sister while giving you your bottles because if I don’t chase her, she is typically littering the contents of my underwear drawer all over the house or hiding my Tupperware. But you remain calm. You look up at me with those big eyes (we are not sure yet what color they will be, but I imagine, like everything else, you will have your father’s hazel beauties), confused but peaceful as I try to intercept bras before they end up in the toilet. You don’t often seem phased at all by the gleeful screeching of Lilah as she watches “Yo Gabba Gabba” in the afternoons.

Lilah, who initially didn’t have a clue what to think about you, the little meatloaf that suddenly appeared in place of mommy’s giant belly, is totally enamored with you. First thing in the morning, she runs to where you are sleeping (which could either be next to our bed in the sleeper or in the swing, depending on what kind of night we had) and says, in the sweetest, most adorable voice I have ever heard, “Hiiiiiiiiii, Ollie!” (Which, by the way, is the only full sentence, if you can call it that, that she knows so far.) Judging from the giant smile on your face when this happens, I am optimistic that you two will be the best of friends. And not so long from now!

You hold your head up for long stretches of time. So often that it amazes everyone who sees it. It is astonishing to me that, a year from now, you too will be learning to walk and exploring and eating toilet paper. I have to remind myself how quickly this all passes so that I don’t miss a minute of your babyhood. I try and remember, at four in the morning, that you are my last baby. And you won’t be a baby for long. It goes too fast.

Your dad has been working 15 hours per day, six days per week since you were about two months old. It has definitely taken a toll on us because you kids don’t get to see him every day like you used to. But when you do see him, the love that I see between you brings tears to my eyes. Our family is complete. And it is so because of you, my little man.

I had forgotten how beautiful it is when your baby smiles at you, though. Not because your sister doesn’t smile at me, but that she is no longer a baby. And not because it has been a long time, because she is just shy of 16 months old now. But because there is no comparison to it. In. The. World. When you smile at me, it is different than the way that you smile at your Grandmas or your sister or even your dad. Because I can tell it is just for me. You know me. And you already love me. And it melts my heart. Every. Single. Time.

I love you too, little man. To the moon and back.

Love,

Mom

(Right now, I have to tell you, you are sort of pissing me off, however, because you refuse to nap. Even though your ridiculously loud sister is quietly napping in her room and there is virtually ZERO noise in the house. Mommy needs 15 minutes to write you a letter, buddy.)