Tag Archives: Open Letters

Open Letter to Baby O: 9 Months

Dear Oliver,

You are nine months old now and let me tell you, this month has been insane. You are finally getting your four top teeth AT THE SAME TIME. Or you have been, your front two popped out yesterday and I was so relieved because I thought that all of this sleep business (you know, the business of you not wanting to do any of it) was over. Or at least CLOSE to being over. But you showed me, son. You showed me. You have been worse about sleeping since you got the teeth than you were before. It has only been 48 hours at most, but you are definitely giving me a bit of a hard time.

You also just had strep throat. A month after your sister had it. Which made me so sad for you because I had it once and it was hell. Granted, I was 25 then and maybe a little bit of a wuss. Because you didn’t act like you were nearly in as bad of shape as I remember feeling. But whatever. It is gone now and hopefully that little experience will help to strengthen your little immune system.

You are huge. You are 28.5 inches long and a whopping 23.9 lbs. Which is, just so you know, in the 95th percentile for weight and your doctor, I’m sure, thinks I am feeding you whole steaks and straight butter. (I am not. FYI.) You aren’t yet crawling. And I blame myself for that because I am still petrified with fear that your sister will try and stand on you while you are attempting to do so. I try and practice with you while she is sleeping so that there is less danger of anyone’s demise or serious injury. You stand up like a pro, though. You can stand, holding onto things, for quite a long time.

You are still, generally, a happy baby. Although, even when you are happy, you are the loudest baby EVAR. You screech like a pterodactyl when you are happy and when you are pissed, you are a tiny air horn. If you weren’t so cute, I might get a little pissed about this because it is really hard to deal with it when your sister is, in an attempt to get my attention, trying to match your hollering. We’ve had to replace all of the windows in the house. (This is not true. But I am surprised.)

You look so much more like a little boy than a baby now. (Which might have something to do with the fact that you are gigantic and rival your sister in the size department. People often ask if you are twins, with puzzled looks on their faces.) I can’t believe that in a few months we will be throwing your first birthday party. There is a whole lot of emotion involved in this for me. I am so happy you are growing up to be such a perfect little guy but I am super sad that you won’t be a baby anymore. This, by no means, implies that I would have any other babies. Because, oh my god, you kids are enough.

I would really appreciate if you would go ahead and push those teeth out and maybe remedy whatever is going on with your sleep schedule, though. Mommy is tired and cranky and scarcely has time to write letters to you. And that, my little guy, is unacceptable. Let’s get this show on the road, shall we?

As always, you are a joy. You are getting to an age where you are taking everything in and are actually able to PLAY with your sister which is really fun to watch. The two of you laugh and squeal and you hit her a lot and she hates that. And it is hard to explain to her that you don’t mean to hit her and that you just flail around like a crazy person when you get excited. I am sure she won’t remember this and pretty soon you will be hitting each other on purpose. Oh, so much to look forward to!

I never knew I wanted kids until I had the two of you. And now I cannot imagine my life without you. Your smiles are the things that keep me going. You make me want to be better. You give me faith that I can be. And that the world can be better. And that you two will play a part in making it better. And I daydream about all the things you will accomplish. You are my hope, my heart, my everything. And I thank the Universe for every day with you. Every smile. Even when you are screaming your bloody heads off.

 

To the moon and back,

Mom

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An Open Letter to My Kids: 8 months and 21 months

Dear Kids,

This past month has been INSANE. You have been sick, teething, exhausted, cranky, defiant, loud, hyperactive, and sometimes, all of these things at the same time. My days with you have varied from wonderfully entertaining to seriously infuriating. When I say infuriating, I want you to realize that I am not mad AT you, but I am mad that I a) I have tried 47 times to drink coffee while it is warm, subsequently heating it up OVER AND OVER AND OVER but it never works because one of you has suddenly created some sort of gift for me in your pants and it needs to be dealt with RIGHT THIS MINUTE or because someone else is shrieking because she cannot lift a chair that is TWICE HER SIZE, over her HEAD. (I can see where this would be frustrating, my dear. The shrieking is taking things a bit far. I am more than happy to relocate said chair for you. Promise.) or b) no matter how many dishes I have done today, every time I go into the kitchen, the pile seems to have doubled. Or tripled. (Why the eff don’t we have a dishwasher?) or c) one of you is sick and cannot decide if you would like to sleep constantly or not at all so I spend most of the day fighting with you to sleep and then you wake up the other one of you. And then I fight with that one. Lather, rinse, repeat.

I could never be angry at you guys though. You are little and hilarious and super fun. You know, when you are smiling and cooperative. Which, by the way, could happen more often if you wouldn’t mind. Just saying. But you are generally good little spawn. You are more grown up every day and it kills me to think that, pretty soon, you won’t be my tiny, dependent little people. And you will be doing things like going to school. And having sleepovers at friends’ houses. And, like, stealing cars and stuff. (You seriously had better not steal cars EVER, you guys. I am serious. Unless you can be really good at it. Like, if you were like Nick Cage and Angelina Jolie in “Gone in 60 Seconds”. Far be it for me to make you stop doing what you’re good at. Don’t get caught stealing cars.) It blows my mind that you guys will be ONE and TWO in a few short months. How did this happen?

If there is a grievance here, it is that I would really like to sleep more. I am not saying that this is always a problem. And O, you are mostly an angel in letting Mommy sleep. L, on the other hand, you are a monster. 21 months old and you still refuse to stay in your crib all night. You want to be next to me ALL. THE. TIME. (And I don’t hate this at all because you are the best cuddler I know…but let me tell you something about how mommies and daddies like to sleep in the same bed. Sometimes, you make it a little difficult for your Daddy to sleep because you are kicking him in the nose for hours on end. You really should apologize for that.) But I am tired. With your Dad’s schedule, at this point, there is rarely any time for showering or sleeping or the brushing of the hair. I really miss brushing my hair too. And showers. Oh my god, how I miss showers. Long ones. Long, hot, GLORIOUS SHOWERS. Okay, I might be getting off topic. But you guys will understand all of this when you become parents. Or probably when you are teenagers and I start giving all of this back to you tenfold. Just wait. Sleep with one eye open. Mommy will be there. Interrupting sleep and showers and peace. You wait.

I haven’t had a whole lot of time for writing since you have both been sick with strep and Baby O with a double ear infection before that. You have definitely been giving me a run for my money for the last few weeks. And I really did want to write you each and individual letter about how insane you are making me awesome you are on an individual level, but there just hasn’t been much opportunity. So this will have to do.

L:

You are getting to be SO very smart. And social. And you love being outside and running around like a maniac. And singing. And pulling all of Daddy’s DVDs off of the shelf and then sitting amidst the pile of them while I stand by and decide whether it is worth it to tell you “no” and risk the epic tantrum you will have or if I should just let you have your way and try to use this as a teaching tool for “Cleanup Time”. Most of the time, you win. Because I am a sucker and you are so freaking cute. Because not only do you make this giant mess, but you then look at me from your pile of whatever it is you are attempting to destroy and you put your arms up with a concerned look on your face and say, “What happened?!” like you have NO IDEA how this has occurred. I am in trouble with you, kiddo. You are an evil genius.

I am about to start to plan your second birthday party. And it makes me crazy to think about because it feels like just yesterday we had your first one. You are such an amazing little person. You are getting so big and you talk so much and the best part of it all is that you actually make sense now. You know, sometimes. The other day, you tried to pick Baby O up from off of my lap and, while it was hilarious because he weighs ONE POUND LESS THAN YOU, it was terrifying to think, “What if she actually succeeds one day and drops him on his baby noggin?!”

As per usual, you make life worth living. You are the best, brightest, most amazing little girl in the world and every day with you is the best day ever. (Okay, I am going to go ahead and say that I mean this all the time, but there are definitely days that I want to run screaming from the house because you have had 74 tantrums. Just so you know. I love you. But you are a handful.) I can’t believe that, before too long, I will be looking back on these days and they will be a distant memory. It is bittersweet.  But I am excited to see the person that you will become. I love you.

Baby O:

You are eight months old now. And holy crap, I don’t even know what to say. You are amazing. Your smile is HUGE and real and just as contagious as the strep throat you and your sister have been bouncing around. You are super ticklish and you HATE to be on your tummy. You immediately roll over onto your back. I assume it is so you can protect your head better from being crushed by your insane sister. Or at least see the skull crushing coming and yell for help. She doesn’t mean any harm. She just thinks that everything is a seat. Seriously. She has totally sat on my head before too. Don’t be offended. You love her though. Your face still lights up when she comes near you. I’m convinced that the two of you are going to be inseparable.

You are still not crawling, but not because you don’t want to. I, actually, believe that you probably just need a few more minutes per day of practice. But this poses a problem because you are both at ages where you demand attention. A lot of it. And usually simultaneously.  I am going to get this thing going. Because even though the thought of both of you running around the house and falling down and stuff scares the bejesus out of me, the thought of carrying you around for much longer is far worse. You are a BIG BOY, kiddo. Adorable. And totally solid. But FREAKING HUGE.

I find myself getting so excited for you to grow up a little and be a little more independent and then I immediately feel guilty for what feels like wishing your infancy away. There are, however, moments that I wish you could stay my cuddly little turkey forever. But there is so much more to come, little guy. So much. And we will have so much fun!

I love you.

 

Both of you make me so very happy and fill my heart up with some crazy happiness I didn’t know existed until you were here and our family was complete.

To the moon and back,

Mom

An Open Letter to Baby O: Seven Months

Dear Ollie,

Just a few days ago, you turned seven months old. And I sat and thought and thought about how, just a year ago, your sister was at this stage and I just can’t believe that, a year from now, you are going to be doing all the crazy things that she is currently doing. And then I thought and thought about what kind of crazy things she will have learned to do in that span of time and then I thought, “HOLY HELL! How will I maintain any sanity with TWO TODDLERS who will inevitably be refusing to take naps, throwing food all over the walls and floor, flushing strange objects down the toilet and learning to effectively TANTRUM?!” You know. Among all the other things that I haven’t even thought of yet. This all scared the bejesus out of me. Because OH. MY. GOD. I am already averaging 2-3 days without showers because I can rarely ever contain the two of you long enough to turn the water on, let alone, get in there and wash my damn hair. Yeah, you guys are making me suffer right now, FOR REALS.

So, yeah. I am freaking out a little bit about the future of my sanity. (Or the lack thereof…) But I am also really excited for all this fun stuff right there on the horizon for you. Pretty soon, you will be getting all brave and trying to dive off of things, like your sister does! Ooooh! Okay, this doesn’t thrill me, it just gives me a heart attack. But you WILL be learning to crawl and pull yourself up and stand and then WALK. And then I will lose my shit because, as much as I want you to do all of that stuff (because you weigh FAR TOO MUCH for me to carry you much longer), I am only one person and you guys outnumber me and can fit into small places that I cannot. Danger. SO much danger.

But I am excited that you will pass through all the really annoying parts of infancy. Take, for instance, your most recent development, wherein you gave up sleep. I don’t really know why you have done this all of a sudden. Because you have always seemed to enjoy sleeping. Much more than your sister ever did or currently does. You have been a little sleeping angel. That is, until the DAY that you turned 7 months old. And then you decided that 4:30 am is an appropriate time for singing songs at the top of your lungs for long periods of time. I am grateful that you aren’t crying during these times. On the contrary, these times seem like very joyous events for you. Good for you, buddy, for having a healthy love of music. Can I just suggest that maybe we try loving it more, like sometime around 9 am instead? That would be cool.

When I think back on L and her sleeping (or NOT sleeping, in her case) patterns, it dawns on me that when she was exactly 7 months old, she decided she hated to sleep even more than ever before also. So…I am hoping that you do not continue this into toddlerhood. Because if you do, you will both be sleeping in a tent, in the back yard. Which is probably a total lie. Because I will probably be the one sleeping in the yard. Let’s be for real here.

You have two teeth now and I am sure that more are right there, just waiting to make my life a living hell push through those juicy little jaws of yours. You look more like a kid every day and not so much, anymore, like my little baby boy. It is so insane that you are almost as big as your sister at such an early age. But, again, your father is the Jolly Green Giant. So…at least we know where you get that from. But you are pretty much your father’s clone in most ways anyway. So I was expecting as much.

You are generally still one of the happiest babies I have ever encountered. Your giggle is so infectious. You love it when I hold you in the air and pretend to nibble on you and you laugh like this is the best/funniest/most entertaining thing that has ever happened in the history of the world. And I love the sound of your happiness more than I can ever tell you. Your big, hazel eyes are wide with curiosity already, and it is as if you are trying to take the whole world in, all the time. You seem to be sizing everything up and becoming a little genius before my eyes. You seem like an old soul to me. You seem, to me, to be a lot like my Grandpa Ollie, your namesake. And I think it is wonderful. I couldn’t have asked for anything better than you. I am so excited to see who you become. I hope, every day, that I can be a good example to you. I hope the same for your sister. I hope that I can teach you to be the kind of person that you can be proud of. I hope you will learn to be kind and gentle like your father and I hope you value the importance and opportunity of education and knowledge. I hope that you belly-laugh every day. And I hope that you find the joy in making other people belly-laugh as well.

Being a parent is one of the scariest things I can think of. I hope that I do you proud, my little dude. Because I couldn’t live with myself, otherwise.

You two are the loves of my life. And I value every second of every minute of every day that I am lucky enough to have you. I hope you remember that always.

To the moon and back,

Mom

An Open Letter to Baby O: Five Months

Dear Oliver,

Today you are five months old. I always say that I can’t believe it. Because I CAN’T FREAKING BELIEVE IT! You are not only no longer a newborn, but you do tricks!

You can sit up unassisted now! Not for long periods of time, yet. But I am a firm believer that this is because your overall chunk factor is outweighing your ambition to do so. Understandably so. You are CHUNKY. You are at your most motivated when I am eating food next to you and you are intrigued and drooling. I am thinking that if I create some sort of device that dangles donuts in front of your face, you will do lots more interesting things.

You are not a fan of tummy time. And this is not a shock because your sister hated it so much that it took literally TWO SECONDS on her tummy before she started wailing her pretty little head off. You aren’t quite as bad as she was. You will, at least, humor me for a minute or so before you get angry. But you’re strong. And that makes me happy.

You might not believe this when you finally read this post, and you might call me a liar, but you absolutely LOVE YOUR SISTER. Your eyes light up every time she is within your line of sight and you squeal with glee when she pays attention to you. I mean, like, ANY attention. Now, like I said, you may never believe that this was ever the case. But here it is, Ollie. In print. Mommy has spoken. I get so much satisfaction out of the two of you and your interactions with each other. When you cry, she brings your pacifier to me to give to you. (She sometimes tries to shove it, ever so gently into your eye mouth. She tries to help. She loves you too.

You are still such a happy baby. You sleep well most of the time and you coo and giggle and have all this personality and I just can’t believe how fast you are growing. You are generally content just to sit and watch as I put out your sister’s little fires all day. You bounce in the little bouncy contraption while she bangs pots and pans and creates a ridiculous amount of noise. You don’t mind. You just want to be near her. And when the mood strikes her, she pushes the bouncy contraption back and forth, saying, “WEEEEEEE!” for you so that it is like you are in a swing. (She used to push you in the swing too, if it wasn’t turned on, because she can’t stand you not to be moving?) You love this. You giggle and scream and just watch her. It melts my heart every time.

I hope that, by the time you read this, you and your sister are as close as you can be. I think that is the most exciting thing for me about you being this close in age. You, I hope, will grow to be best friends. I hope that you will love each other and look out for each other always. I hope that you get the best of the best out of having a sibling. Because, I mean, siblings are AMAZING. (Try and remember that when she plays tricks on your or tells you that you were adopted. You were NOT adopted and I have this blog, detailing all of the pain of my pregnancy, to prove it. But it is an older sibling’s DUTY to convince you of such things. Just kick her. No. Don’t kick your sister. Man…I maybe need to work on my parental advice before you get old enough that you actually do start kicking her. Crap.)

Anyway, I love you very much. More and more every single day. I can’t imagine my life without your smile. And your big, beautiful eyes. And being puked on 17 times before noon every day. (My guess is that I would probably smell better without that last one, though.) You should know that you, your sister and father are my whole world. And I couldn’t love any three people more. You all complete me. So, yeah. Thanks for that, little guy.

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To the moon and back,

Mom

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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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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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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.)

An Open Letter to Baby O at 2 Months

Dear Oliver,

I am pretty sure you are an angel.

You were named after my grandfather who was brilliant, kind, loving, and soft-spoken. I never once, in the 30 years he was in my life, saw him angry. And, so far, my little guy, you are doing justice to your Great-Grandfather’s name. You are a quiet, content, lovable baby. You sleep well, you eat well and you love to be held, but are okay with just observing from your swing. I thought that parenting two little ones would be a lot harder than it actually turned out to be, but I think it is because I hit the baby jackpot when I got you. You are amazing.

Your sister is increasingly interested in you and is, more and more, wanting to see what you are doing. She likes to peek at you while you are napping and hold your hand while I am holding you. She stands next to me while I am feeding you and pats you. In fact, the first combination of words that she has ever made was, “Hi, Ollie!”, which both blew my mind and made me so happy and confident that our family is complete now that you have arrived. And, of course, I cried my face off. Because moms are crazy people. And, just a warning, this will continue through your entire life. Every little thing you do is bound to make me burst into tears. I don’t know if this will change. I mean, right now you are brand new and I am a ball of hormones. So maybe you will luck out and, by the time you read this, I won’t be a basketcase anymore. But don’t count on it. I love you and your sister so much that I can’t imagine not being a basketcase about everything that you do. You guys are pretty awesome.

You smile a lot. I can’t tell if it is just that you are gassy as hell or if you are actually smiling at us. I think it is a little too early for this milestone but am inclined to believe that you are a genius. Besides that, you don’t seem all that gassy when you’re grinning. You sort of seem like you know something that we don’t. Which is a little creepy sometimes. Like, I have toilet paper on my shoe. Or spinach in my teeth. Either way, it is super adorable.

In some ways, I can’t wait for you to be older so we can play and giggle and go to the zoo. You know, like, and you will actually know we are at the zoo…But in other ways, I want you to stay small and squishy forever. You are growing so fast that it is hard for me to take it all in. Having your sister made me realize how quickly time flies and how little time you have as such a little helpless meatloaf. And here you are, two months old in a few days, and it is all bittersweet.

For the time being, you are the cutest little guy I have ever seen. And I love every little thing you do and look forward to helping you discover all the new little things you learn to do. I love you so much, little man.

Love,

Mom

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An Open Letter to Baby O: One Whole Month

Dear Oliver,

So, you’re a month old and everyone is alive! I say that because, as you are aware, you and your sister are very close in age and she is sort of a monster. A monster who has just learned to walk. And then there is you. You are adorable and squishy as can be. And you need me. YOU NEED ME ALL THE TIME. I ain’t mad atcha, little guy, all newborns are this needy. In fact, possibly less so than you. You are generally a really content baby. But you need to eat really often. And you pee constantly. And you despise pee. And you haven’t yet figured out that when your sister goes to bed, it is time for Mommy and Daddy to watch True Blood or Dexter without interruption. Because this is the only adult time we get. You seem to want to wake up as soon as you can have us to yourself. And then you demand things. For several hours. And by the time you are done, your dad is in bed and Mom is ready for a bottle glass of wine. I am hoping you will get it together soon. Because I gave up drinking for a long time to make you. And I deserve some Mommy time.

 

Baby O at 13 days old.

Baby O at 13 days old.

Needless to say, little man, you and your sister are definitely keeping us busy. You, with your constant peeing and your sister with her running around the house, screaming with glee about the discovery of a stray grape under the kitchen table.  You and I spend a lot of time chasing your sister around so that she doesn’t eat all of the paper products in the house. (Don’t ask me why she likes to eat paper. I suspect she just likes to eat everything and there is so much paper to choose from. Tissues, toilet paper, the electricity bill…You know. Maybe you will stick to actual food. We don’t have any Legos. So…) I am insanely tired and have, just like with your sister, been sleeping on the couch so that we don’t wake everyone else up when we have your snack time at 2 AM. I don’t really mind because you actually sleep. Like, for several hours at a time. And I don’t have to hold you the whole time. You do it (Gasp!) on your OWN. For that, I appreciate you more than you will ever know.

You are still a little meatloaf and only smile when you are about to let out some heinous gas. But it is really cute and almost makes the smell worth it. (I am not sure if ALL babies are as stinky as you and your sister, but sweet baby Jesus, you kids smell!) You look just like a tiny version of your father, which is sort of awesome because everyone says your sister is a tiny version of me. You even have your father’s fingers and toes. Namely the toes. You know, freakishly long and weird-looking. And sort of look like fingers. (I call them finger-toes because your dad’s toes are literally almost as long as my actual fingers. But…I do have freakishly SMALL hands…so…)

You have gained almost three pounds in the 5 weeks since you were born. At your last appointment, which was 5 days ago, you already weighed 9 lbs and 1 oz, which blows my mind. Because I don’t remember your sister growing this fast. It makes me excited to see you grow and become less and less like a meatloaf and more and more like a little dude. But, man, it is pretty surreal to think “he will never be this small again!” (and I DO think that. Every. Single. Day.) Luckily, this realization does NOT inspire me to give you guys a little brother or sister. So…that’s a sign that your mother hasn’t COMPLETELY lost it from all the sleep deprivation.

So, that’s about how things have been going during your first month of life. Your father and I love you very much. I would love to tell you that your sister loves you very much too. But really, at this point, she just loves hummus. And she really just wants your pacifier. Don’t worry, you guys will be besties some day.

We are so, so, SO glad that you’re here and have completed our little family. You and your sister are truly blessings in our lives. Even more so than I could have imagined. I am so excited to be your mom and to watch you grow.

All of my love,

Mom