Category Archives: Pregnancy

Land of the Pressed and Devil Tots

English: These are what tater tots look like.

Devil Tots: Delicious, but potentially deadly.

Many of you might have seen that I was (finally) Freshly Pressed last Saturday! I have to say, I was pretty sure that the Land of the Pressed was somewhere far, far away and somewhere that I would likely never be invited to, but then, there it was in my email! “Congratulations!” And then I peed my pants. (I don’t remember if I ACTUALLY peed my pants, but I am currently 30 weeks pregnant and never really redeveloped any pelvic floor muscles after Baby L so it is safe to assume that I probably did.) Anyway, it was super exciting and WOW! What a ride.

I want to first thank all of the newbies who stopped by and/or started following! I have to apologize in advance for my foul language, probable impropriety, and, last but not least, my tendency to talk about my bodily functions with way too much detail (please see pelvic floor muscle comment above). Chances are, you may have already witnessed some of this, if you looked around a bit, and maybe aren’t offended or scared off, but if this is the first you’ve heard of it, don’t say I didn’t warn you guys. I’m most likely gonna tell y’all ALL about the state of my vagina on more than one occasion.

Moving on…

So, to celebrate/commemorate my invitation into The Land of the Pressed, I got the stomach bug from hell and dropped my iPhone into the toilet while simultaneously vomiting. Because, you know, if you’re gonna do something, you gotta really DO it. I’m not going to get into all the nasty I endured during this time (you’re welcome), but I will tell you that OH. MY. GOD, internet, I have never been so sick in my entire life. I may or may not have vomited into Baby L’s toy drum (a bath toy) because I have (evidently) lost my ability to vomit WITHOUT SIMULTANEOUSLY PEEING. (See pelvic floor comment above. Again, don’t say I didn’t warn you.) Because I have had four (FOUR!) of these “stomach bugs” since I became pregnant with Baby O, I am starting to suspect that this is his way of telling me that he hates tater tots. I know, that sounds weird. But literally, EVERY time I have gotten violently ill like this in the last several months, tater tots were involved. They will be called “Devil Tots” from here on out. So, I have, between trying to be a mom and a pregnant lady and trying to recover from this horrible illness (“Devil Tot Syndrome”), I have been out of commission. I haven’t responded to all of your lovely comments or had time to give them all of the attention that they deserve. So, I’m sorry. And I’m on it.

Bear with me, newbies, and don’t think I don’t appreciate you. I’ve just been busy trying not to pee on myself.

 

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An Open Letter to Baby L at 9 Months (Okay, 10. Sue Me.)

Dear Lilah,

You are WAY past nine months old now. In fact, you are ten months old, as of yesterday. But, as you know, your mother is nothing if she isn’t a total slacker. It isn’t that I don’t enjoy writing letters to you. Really. It is that between you insisting on trying to pound away at my laptop while I am doing so, and the miniscule amount of time I have without you attached to me, I am unable to do a whole lot of anything these days.

You are getting so big. I was at one of my check-up appointments the other day and there was a woman there with a baby who she “claimed” was 8 weeks old and weighed 11 pounds and I could barely remember you being that tiny ( say “claimed” because I swear to Cheesus, that baby was so small. SO SMALL). You are so full of personality now and you really are a little person and not at all like that little meatloaf that you were when we brought you home from the hospital. It is so strange to think you have changed so much. And also to think that, in just a few months, we will have another meatloaf. And this time it will have a tiny penis. Weird. Anyway, you shouldn’t concern yourself with such things. You just concentrate on being super cute and deliberately spitting on everything in a 20 foot radius of you.

You are not a crawler. And not because you can’t, mind you, but because having to crawl to get somewhere really pisses you off. I wonder if I am the only mom out there scratching her head on this one. I have seen you do it and I know that you are capable, but yet, for some reason, you would rather get in baby plank pose, scoot yourself about a foot backwards and then get super angry and start to screech. I am not as worried that you are behind in development as that you are going to be lazy until your brother is born and then take giant leaps when I don’t have the time or the energy to pad the entire house for you to fall all over.

You say things like “mama” and “dada” but I am pretty sure you don’t yet know that you are saying our respective names. Your dad, however, insists that you say “duck” when it is bath time. (You do have a rubber duckie or two that we have in there with you when Daddy bathes you, but I am not sure that I buy that you are yet calling them ducks. Not because I think you are a dummy, but because I haven’t heard this and your dad has a hearing problem. Meaning he hears what he wants to. And this applies to everyone, not just you.)

You love eating. You are indiscriminate completely about food unless I try to give you peas. Peas and carrots? “Sure, Mom! Bring it!” Peas by themselves? “No way, Mom, get that shit out of my face.” You should know that peas are delicious and you should eat them. Don’t listen to your dad when he talks about how gross they are. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. You especially love strawberries, pears, and green grapes. All three of my favorite fruits. And we have them just about every day for a snack together and it is really amusing for me to watch you master your dexterity and pick up tiny pieces of slimy stuff. Half of the time, most of it ends up in your lap, but I enjoy watching you stuff your face on the off-chance that you make it in there. (You are totally getting good at it, though. At first, I doubted that you had gotten ANY fruit into your mouth, now I only find a couple of slivers in your lap and on the floor…Good work, my love.)

You are still a really weird sleeper. We attempted to do this thing called “sleep training” wherein your father and I would train you about when and how to sleep on your own. What ended up happening was that you ended up training me and your father on how to sleep with you wrapped around our faces. We are about to start this process again because it is really important to me to have you in your own bed/room before your brother gets here and keeps me up all night.  In fairness (to me), it would have been pointless to go full force with sleep training if we were just going to uproot you, which we just did when we moved to this new house. So…yeah. I don’t suck as much as it might seem.

You are also working on getting tooth number 7. And let me tell you, Lilah, teething is a total bitch and you OWE me for this. Like, when you turn 18, you are going to need to buy me a kitten for each tooth that you have. Okay, that’s not a good idea. But I will think of something for you to do. Because this shit is DUMB. (And also makes your sleeping WORSE. Yes. That is possible, it would appear.)

So, again, I am sorry that I was a slack ass during your ninth month, but we had a lot going on. I mean, be for real, we had to move so that we had room for your brother and so that you didn’t catch disobedience and general badness from your cousin. I’m just saying. By the time you read this, you will know exactly what I mean. No need to get too involved.  Either way, your father and I are very proud of you. You crack us up every day and you are so effing cute with your growing front teeth and your chubby, delicious cheeks. We can’t get enough of you. You are the love of my life. Duh.

Love always,

Mom

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On Not Getting Hit with Golf Clubs. And Some Other Shit.

Dancing bears

Dancing bears (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Baby L has been a pretty bad blogger lately. It might have something to do with the fact that she has been busy trying to stand on her own and furiously trying to crawl. (She can crawl, but usually does more backwards crawling and when trying to go forward, either flops over onto her side or just lets her arms give out and starts to fuss about it. What a baby, I know…sheesh.) She’s really letting the blogosphere down. I tried to tell her that people are going to stop reading and that everyone is getting really pissed that she is so selfishly ignoring this blog. She said she’s sorry, you guys. Don’t give up on her. After all, she is just a baby.

Oh, you guys were under the impression that I was going to blog…Right. About that…Well, a lot has happened in the past few weeks. For starters, (and I know I will forget something, because I TOTALLY have pregnancy brain and am having trouble remembering pretty much everything. Especially if I have to remember it for more than 30 seconds) MB, Baby L and I moved into a new place. Before you get all excited for us and our new status as homeowners, just don’t get excited. Because we aren’t. And I am okay with it. We are renting a three bedroom house with a giant yard for a fraction of what I would have expected to pay for a place this size. Is it on the side of town that I was hoping for? No. Is the rent going to be too much for our single-income family? Shockingly? NO! Go, Team Oopsie!

Is this my dream house? No. But there are a few things that I absolutely LOVE about it. Like, for instance, the yard is seriously gigantic. This makes me super happy because pretty soon it will be summertime. And Baby L will be frolicking about in cutesy little sundresses and I will be prancing with my giant preggo-beast belly to Grateful Dead songs. Okay, probably this won’t happen. I mean, who wants to prance with a preggo-beast belly? And I feel like Grateful Dead prancing should only happen after a lot of cocktails or hallucinogens. Neither of which I am really allowed to partake in currently. (I mean, not that I would take any hallucinogens anyway. At least, not anymore. Don’t judge me. I was a teenager once, OKAY? I digress…there probably won’t be prancing.)

The house is pretty old, so it has that awesome built-in shelving in it. I have always loved that, because I hate putting up shelves. So I just don’t. And then I wind up with a bunch of framed pictures and barnyard animal figurines all over everything. (Okay, not so much the figurines, but I wanted to make sure you got the visual of a ridiculous and tacky clutter. Mission accomplished? I think so.)

Also, and this might be a pro AND a con for us: NO CARPET. Only hard wood! OH. MY. SWEET. BABY. JESUS. I love hard wood floors. I mean, do I really have to say anything else about it? I don’t think so.

One of the best things, though, just kind of fell into my lap. When we were looking at this house, the landlord was having a broker show it. And the broker, well, lets just say he was sort of flighty and weird and I didn’t like him. And he stood us up a couple of times before we actually got to see the place. And then, once we finally saw it and MB had decided that, not only was the price right, but that he wanted to go ahead and get it ASAP, the dude couldn’t locate our former landlord and couldn’t get a reference. When I offered to speak with the potential landlord, she mentioned that her father (who has dementia) is living alone in a house right next door and that she is not only looking for a tenant, but also someone to spend a couple of hours per week with him to cook meals and give him medications. Naturally, I mentioned that I am not currently working and that I used to work with dementia patients at a nursing home. This won her over, apparently, and we got the house the next day. And then, a week later, I had a job. Not a substantial one, but one that will help out with our bills and one that will provide me with a little purpose. You know, of the outside of the house variety. SCORE!

So, now I am employed. And, call me crazy, but I really like working with dementia patients. He tends to cuss a lot at me when I put in his eyedrops but I was warned about this. And cussing, you guys, I can totally handle. I mean, fuck, I am a sailor-mouthed mommy blogger. As long as he doesn’t bite me or hit me with a golf club, I can handle him.

So, we are no longer living with a disobedient five-year-old. And we have hard wood floors. And a huge yard. And I cook eggs and bacon for a dementia patient and try to avoid getting hit with golfclubs for several hours per week. So, that’s the news.

I don’t think that I have to tell you that I want a GIANT FUCKING BEER. Or that I still hate being pregnant and can’t wait until this shit is over. And I probably don’t need to inform you of the copious amount of ice cream I have ingested over the last month. Or that my belly is officially giant and I want to hide from the world until this kid makes his grand entrance. Because, you guys can probably guess how that is all going over. I mean, I just did this. You guys might remember all the fun that was had.

I will be posting my open letter to Baby L (9 months, totally late. Shut up.) very shortly. I just haven’t had a lot of time to write about her being 9 months old because I have been busy dealing with a 9-month-old. But I have a little more free time now that we are out of our previous living situation and now that I am not currently cleaning up after 4 adults all the time. You know…because that shit sucked the blogging right out of me.

I shall return. And sooner than you may expect.

 

Peace OUT!

 

Solution? Or Bigger Dilemma?

If you’re wondering where Baby L and I have been hiding out, we found a place to rent and have been busy moving! I have to say, I don’t love moving. I don’t love packing. Or unpacking. And not knowing where my shit is. But I AM a fan of sleeping in my own house. Without being awoken by a screeching five-year old who doesn’t want to wear a jacket to kindergarten. So all this disarray? Totally worth it, you guys.

Unfortunately, we currently (but hopefully very temporarily) are without a washer and dryer, a microwave, and a fridge. Yes. A fucking fridge. It is broken and I am hungry 137% of the time because I am 6 months pregnant. So that is pretty awesome. I mean totally NOT awesome.

But, again, no screeching five-year-old.

I can dig it.

Tonight will be our second night in the new house and it will officially be the first night ever that Baby L will not be sleeping in the same room with me. With the exception of our wedding night. And let me tell you, ladies and gents, I am freaking.theFuck.OUT. I know I have bitched a bit about sleeping with my kid. But you know what Internet? Whatever! I am going to miss snuggling with my baby furnace. What about my husband, you ask? What about snuggling with that guy? Eh. He’s a good smuggler and all that…but he’s not my baby!!

I don’t really know if I can do this, you guys. Seriously.

Obligatory Valentines Day Post

Cake on Valentine's Day

Cake on Valentine’s Day (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I’ve never really understood the big deal about Valentine’s Day. I mean, I get all the love stuff. And I think all that stuff is really great. I do. But I think it is more important to be loving every day. Not just buy candy and flowers once a year and go out to dinner. I mean, come on.

MB and I have never really had a chance to have a proper V Day. The first year we were together, I had gotten my “friend” an interview at the place where I worked and she was coming in from out of town, so, naturally, she showed up on Valentines Night and was supremely obnoxious for the entirety of the night/her visit. (That’s sort of the norm for her…which explains why we aren’t friends anymore. Oh, that and that she called me her “best friend” for 10 years and hasn’t spoken to me since I lost my job. At the place that she now works. BECAUSE OF ME.) Last year was our second V Day together. And I was pregnant. And bitter. And probably vomiting all over the apartment. And, to be honest, I am pretty sure we sat on the couch and watched some idiotic reality show on TV or something. He probably got me flowers. There may have been ice cream.

This year, I wanted to put on a pretty dress and, despite my growing bump, attempt to feel attractive. I wanted to take off the yoga pants, put on some mascara,  slip into some fancy undies and have an adult dinner with adult conversation with my husband. Because it feels sometimes like we don’t do enough of any of that. And what better day that Valentines Day? Right?

Then we started getting on this “renting a house” thing. Which was due, mostly in part, to the fact that I was, on a daily basis, begging him to take this seriously and allow this nesting urge to rage and find us a place to live that does not come fully stocked with a five-year-old. And he did it. And now, a week before we move in, I am spending money left and right for deposits and rent and odds and ends that we will need to accomodate us and Baby L and then finally Baby O. And I looked him straight in the eye three days ago, after having arranged for a sitter for Baby L and planning to take my husband out to dinner, and told him to just forget it. That we just didn’t have the time. Or the money. And I’m out of mascara anyway. And part of my heart broke. Because I DO miss the times when going to dinner wasn’t such an ordeal. And when I wasn’t shelling out SO MUCH MONEY just to live somewhere peaceful. I DO miss wearing dresses and mascara. And I DO want to celebrate this ridiculous holiday. I DO.

But I’m still wearing yoga pants. And I am totally making Sloppy Joes for dinner. Because I haven’t had them in years. And because I need to eat something that makes me feel happy.

I woke up this morning, though, to beautiful flowers, my favorite cashew turtles and a pretty hilarious card telling me that he loved me more and that I was a smokin’ hot wife. So, it isn’t all bad. And I love him so much, that I guess I don’t care about having to wear yoga pants. Maybe I will just wear the fancy new ones I just bought. Or maybe I’ll just jazz them up with some secret fancy panties underneath. Either way, I have a date with my wonderful man, my beautiful little lady, a box of turtles and some Sloppy Joes.

Happy Valentines Day, internet. I hope you stuff your faces with love and chocolate today.

I’m Not Homicidal, You Guys!

Image representing Woot as depicted in CrunchBase

Image via CrunchBase

I know I have been a little distant. It’s not you, it’s me, internet. There has been a return of the snot over here in the Oopsie household. And it afflicted my spawn and then myself. Making things very messy and unbearable. But things are looking up. Both in the snot department and otherwise.

Here’s an update! Hooray!

On Sleep Training:
Okay, so do you guys remember when I was going insane because my kid wouldn’t sleep? And remember when I said that I desperately wanted to get her sleep trained so that I could sleep alone in my bed with my husband? And remember when I was concerned because I am knocked up and expanding (although, not as rapidly as expected) and soon won’t have ROOM to share a bed with my 8 month old? You do? Oh.

Let me first say that I have gotten my kid MUCH better at going to sleep in her crib at night. And she even naps. Most of the time, IN THE CRIB also…But then let me tell you that, over the course of the last (almost) two months of snuggling with my little nugget every night, I have kind of come to enjoy it. In fact, I actually miss her little baby face-slaps when she isn’t lying beside me. Needless to say, sleep training has worked. But it hasn’t worked all the way. On me, at least. I am pretty sure that if I weren’t so sappy and missing her, she would be sleeping alone all night, every night. But I let her go in the crib until about 3-4 in the morning and then I can’t take it anymore and I need a cuddle. It might be the hormones. Or because, and I hate to admit this, with the new baby coming soon, I am sad that I will no longer to devote all of my attention to my baby girl. But, we all seem to be sleeping better now. And Baby L and I wake every morning, warm and toasty and smiling. And that makes my whole day. (You know, unless she is teething…which she is…again…)

On The Living Situation:
We found a house to rent! This is amazing news. And not just because I am steadily nearing the point of homicide, but because, even though we were looking for a two-bedroom for now, to save on expenses, this house is less expensive than I would have expected AND it has three bedrooms and a GIGANTIC back yard. Woot!

And yes, I know I was just talking about BUYING a house. And believe me, MB and I are ON IT. We just can’t do everything as quickly as we need to with such a short amount of time to prepare for Baby O. So, we signed a year-long lease yesterday and we will save and be as frugal as possible until next year…and then we will re-evaluate and try again. I am actually not as upset about this as I thought I would be. Mostly, I think, because I am just happy to be getting out of this house so that I can finally get a few minutes of peace.

On My Mood:
This pregnancy is pretty boring, you guys. I’m not complaining. But you might be if you got all excited that I was going to get all super bitch like I did when I started this blog. Believe me, super bitch is alive and well. But I am not sure she is even worth blogging about. Because she sort of just gets pissed about no one ever doing the dishes. It is less about puking this time. And I know everyone would rather read about puking than lazy people. I mean…AmIRight?

Anyway, I feel strangely calm. I am terrified of the single income situation and adding in the expense of rent. But I am certain things will work out. I am not sure what has happened to me. Or why my anxiety hasn’t kicked in and caused some sort of mental break, but I am serene. I’m not gonna lie and tell you I don’t want to drink an entire bottle of Pinot by myself. But I can wait. I mean, maybe only until 30 seconds after I give birth. But still…that totally counts. I recently called my husband “an accidental master of the Tao” and I sort of feel like he might be rubbing off on me. I feel confident in our situation. Fat, but confident. And I mean, I guess I can deal with the fat thing…because, let’s face it, this is the last time I will ever have an excuse to gain a bunch of weight and eat copious amounts of cupcakes. So there.

The One Where I Rant About Maternity Clothes

Oh my GOD, you guys. I am so pregnant all of a sudden and I am not sure how this happened!

I went, about two weeks ago, from wearing all of my pre-pregnancy clothes (from before Baby L), RIGHT back into maternity pants. It, like, happened overnight! As did my cravings for all things chocolate. I am not a fan.

Since I hastily sold all of my maternity tops as soon as that shit was over last time (like, before I was even discharged from the hospital, it was all on eBay, you guys), I had to go shopping for new stupid pregnant lady clothes. And I ventured back into that dreaded “Motherhood Maternity” store where I had spent a small fortune just a freaking year ago and reluctantly dragged my huge pregnant ass right back into the changing room of death and stood under flourescent lights to examine my ever-growing BUMP.

AGAIN.

And then I puked all over the sales lady.

Okay, that part isn’t true. But I seriously wanted to do something equally gross to get her to leave me the eff alone, you guys, because I HATE MATERNITY CLOTHES. (Except for maternity pants, because I still feel like women should wear them always…which is why I still have mine. You know, in case I want to eat a lot of food one day.) I hate that they insist that pregnant women should wear HORIZONTAL STRIPES. Why in hell would we want to make ourselves look WIDER?! I am a firm believer in stylish clothing for those with-child but I am also a firm believer in making those same women feel like HUMAN BEINGS. Not giant, striped TRUCKS. Because yes, I feel like I am the size of a truck. And I am 22 weeks pregnant and have only gained 4 pounds. So…you can imagine how I will feel when I get bigger. And bigger. And bigger. And my only clothing options are horizontal striped tunics (read: mumus).

I am not really sure what this post was supposed to be about. I think I might have had something to tell you guys. I guess it will have to wait. I have to find some chocolate.

RIGHT. NOW.

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A Revelation

A pregnant woman

A pregnant woman (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Today, I am 21 weeks pregnant.

The whole thing is still kind of sitting in the pit of my stomach like a brick, some days. Like, I am not sure if I am going to wake up from some really stressful dream wherein I have accidentally gotten knocked up again. AGAIN. Some days, there is a heaviness and an uncertainty that I can’t shake. Some days, I cry a lot.

Today was not one of those days. Today, I had my second OB visit. Of course, I had the appointment on my calendar for 1pm and it was actually at 10:30 am so I was pretty sure I wouldn’t get to see the doctor. But, they saw me. And they didn’t even make me wait for hours. MB was able to come with me. Which only happened once throughout my entire pregnancy with Baby L because of his work schedule. We got to hear Baby O’s heartbeat again and, to my surprise, it didn’t make me want to run out of there or drive my car into the ocean. I felt calm. Serene. Ready to DO this thing. And then MB and I went to lunch. Alone. To one of my least favorite restaurants. But I had a surprisingly good sandwich and then a delicious chocolate malt. Because I am pregnant, you guys!

And then we came home and Baby L was playing contently in her playpen with her grandma standing by. She must have heard me come in, because she peered outside of her little baby pen and saw me and she got the most excited I have ever seen her get for anything or anyone. And in that moment, everything wasn’t just OK, you guys. It was beautiful. And I’m having another baby! And he will be beautiful and wonderful and hilarious and his little eyes will light up when he sees me and he will clap and giggle and I will fall in love with him every day!

You will have to forgive my little revelation, but please know that if I had blogged yesterday, you would have been swept away by the flood of tears that were flowing and FOR NO REASON…so this is a vast improvement.

Also, Hooray for babies!

And We Meet Again…

So, generally, I have been feeling pretty good through this first 4 months of pregnancy. I mean, I must have been feeling pretty good because I was able to keep this pregnancy a secret until just a couple of weeks ago. So, I didn’t accidentally puke on anyone. Which, you know, would have TOTALLY happened in my last pregnancy. Because there was no warning of nausea. Just crazy, sneak-up-on-you vomit. Good times.

I will tell you that, because the symptoms and all the fun details of pregnancy were so fresh in my mind, it was super easy to pretend that this couldn’t really be happening. Because the threat of what was to come was just too much. Like right now.

It is almost 11 at night and I am sitting on the couch watching “Intervention”, thinking about how I could eat my sister-in-law’s entire birthday cake right now. And not because I’m hungry. But because it is chocolate. And because this baby doesn’t seem to discriminate about food like his sister did. He wants it all. He wants onion rings and carrot cake and Special K cereal and fried pickles. And regular pickles. But mostly, he wants pears. Yes. Pears. Which I guess is a really good thing because Baby L just wanted cupcakes. Specialty cupcakes with names like, “The Marilyn Monroe” or the “Bette Davis“.

As much as I have tried to avoid these symptoms, here we are again. I have heartburn (although on a much lesser scale than last time), my back aches (somehow MORE than I remember and probably because Baby L ripped me to shreds and took the liberty of realigning my spine), my head hurts a bit in the morning and I can no longer sleep comfortably in any position for more than an hour. And my belly doesn’t hesitate to remind me of all the fun to come! SO, I am feeling it, internet. I am right back there where I was last year at this time. I wish I could clone myself so I could punch myself in the face for being such an idiot for doing this again so soon.

I think I am over the hump as far as fatigue goes. I mean, I am awake. And it is now after 11 pm. And I have an 8 month old child who keeps me busy all day and hates sleeping. And I have had TWO NAPS since last May. (And, believe me, I wish this were an exaggeration…) And I haven’t passed out. And this makes me happy. Because I know it won’t last. And before too long, I will return to the land of the narcoleptic and I will be stressing about cribs and covers for my carseats and wondering how in the hell I am going to stay up all night taking care of a newborn and then chase a one-year-old around all day. (Help me, Cheesus…)

I really am hoping, internet, that this whole beginning pregnancy thing is some sort of indication that the last trimester will be a piece of cake. Because Baby L sure tried to kill me. (22 hours of labor? Really?) Uggghhh…

 

Open Letter to Baby L at 8 Months

Dear Lilah,

You turned a whopping 8 months old yesterday. As always, I am amazed at how much new stuff you do every day. And how much more personality you have today than last week. You are beautiful and you are my favorite squishy little thing in the whole world.

This past month, however, your father and I announced to the Universe, that we are growing another squishy little thing. This time, it will be a boy and we will name him Oliver, after my grandfather (your great-grandfather) whom you never got to meet but who would have loved you to itty bitty little pieces and who would have told you really terrible jokes but they would have made you laugh anyway. Because your great-grandfather was best at making everyone smile. Daddy and I were not planning on having another squishy one for another year or so, but it seems your brother couldn’t wait to join us. And it seems that the Universe was ready to give him to us. Your father and I graciously accept.

The birth of your brother will happen right after your first birthday. And while I had hoped I would have more time alone with you before we welcomed more squish into the family, I am starting to get really excited at the prospect that you and Oliver will be best friends. That thought warms my heart and brings tears to my eyes.

When you were born, my dearest love, I was SURE that I could not love another human being with the intensity with which I love you. And it has managed to grow ever stronger in these past eight months. Welcoming your brother is scary to me because I can’t imagine loving someone else with that same intensity. I am told that this won’t be an issue. And I am sure that I will love each of you with the same fervor and dedication. I look forward to seeing your interactions with each other and your different personalities emerge. I am so excited for you, little one, to get to experience a sibling (even if I am not quite ready, myself) because, and you probably already know this if you are reading this letter, my own sister is one of my very favorite people. I couldn’t ask for anything more for you than to have a built-in best friend. A sibling is, indeed, a really wonderful thing to have.

You have started to show me that you are readying yourself for crawling. Which terrifies me because you will no longer be that cute little thing that stays where I put you and just lets me know when you are done with it. You will move yourself around and you will grab things and put them in your mouth. You will eventually walk and I will be a nervous wreck. And I will be chasing you and wearing your brother all at the same time. These are exciting times for you, my dear. You are becoming a real, honest-to-goodness, mobile human being. And this saddens me in some ways because it won’t be long at all before you are running around like a crazy person and no longer fall asleep in my arms.

Speaking of sleep, I think we should also discuss how little of that you are doing these days. You know, before I forget. You went, two months ago, from sleeping 8-9 hours independently to insisting upon sleeping in between your father and me in our bed every night. I have tried to trick you. I have tried to let you cry until you calm and fall asleep. (Which, by the way, does not work at all for a couple of reasons. One being that I am fairly certain that you could cry FOREVER, or it maybe just seems like that to me. And two, because I can’t bear to hear you cry. It breaks my heart into pieces every time.) I am not a fan of this phase you are going through because, for such a tiny thing, you sure do take up a hell of a lot of room. Your father and I sleep in the same position all night for fear that we will hurt you or disturb YOUR sleep. (Which isn’t really fair because, really, you don’t have any job to get to in the morning.) Needless to say, I am going to start this “sleep training” thing that I hear so much about VERY soon. (I am only waiting on the necessary instruction manuals to come in the mail. And then it is ON, little one.) I will definitely miss my cuddle time. But I desperately miss sleeping. Because I am pregnant. And if I don’t sleep, I become a scary monster and your father hides from me. Rightly so.

Anyway, you are still the love of my life. You are so beautiful, I sometimes can’t stop myself from staring. You are my everything, little girl. And I promise you, brother or no brother, I will love you always. More and more and more. Every day. Until the day that I die.

Love,

Mom

Sibling!

Sibling! (Photo credit: Gus Dahlberg)