Tag Archives: Open Letters

Open Letter to Baby L: Brother Arrives!

Dear Lilah,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

SO MUCH love,

Mom

A box of Cheerios breakfast cereal.

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

 

An Open Letter to Baby L: ONE YEAR

Dearest Lilah,

Two days ago, you turned one year old.

Firsts are a really big deal for parents. When you got your first tooth, I cried like a baby and wondered how long it would be before you bit the hell out of me. When you ate solid food for the first time, I cried like a baby and thought about how, soon, you would be feeding yourself. When you took your first steps (which happened just a few days before your birthday on May 14th), I cried like a baby and thought about the definite end to those days when you depended on me to travel. And to explore. And while these are all really beautiful things you are doing, they make me feel a little lost. Up until now, my lovely, you have needed me for everything. And now, here you are, one year old and starting to walk.

I wanted to make sure that, since your brother will be born in just a few short weeks, that this first birthday would be for you, a true celebration of how much you mean to your father and me. I know you won’t remember it. And I know that first birthday parties are more for the parents of the children than for the children themselves. But, the important thing was, to me, that the people who love you the most got to share in your day. And they did.

You were a beautiful birthday girl, Lilah. But I don’t want to talk about your party. Because that’s not what this letter is about.

This letter is to let you know, and make sure that it is spelled out here so you don’t forget it, what an amazing addition you have been to my life for the last year. Before I had you, I had known love, but I could have never known a love like the one that you brought to me when I saw you for the first time. I am not sure that a mother can ever fully express the love that she has for her child. I am not sure that I will ever be able to make you understand how much you have enriched me and every minute of my life so far just by being with me. The thought of my life before you is a faint memory. One that I don’t care to revisit. I was unaware, before I met you, how much I was missing out on. And I am so thankful that you have shown me. I hope that someday you will have children of your own, so that you can understand the kind of joy that you have brought to me. (Just for your information, when I say “someday”, I mean, when you are 30. Not 14. Okay?)

Your smile is the reason that I wake up each morning and it is the last thing I think about before I fall asleep at night. You are truly, the love of my life. You and your mama

I hope that I can be the kind of mother to you that I have promised to myself that I will be. I hope that I can teach you all of the things that a girl’s mother should teach her. About respecting herself. And finding beauty in herself, even in her flaws. About what confidence is and why it is important that other people not be able to tear you down. I hope that I can lead you down a path to be a respectful, compassionate person. I promise you, my dearest, I will do my best. I want nothing but the best of everything for you.

Now that I have sufficiently soaked the keyboard with the tears of a year with you, I will just end here by saying that I love you.

 

I love you to the moon and back.

Mom

An Open Letter to Baby L at 11 Months (Holy SHIT!)

Dear Lilah,

Tomorrow, you will be eleven months old. I can’t really wrap my head around how this has happened. I feel as though I just brought you home from the hospital. And you were all tiny and resembling an alien. (I can say that, because I am your mom and really, all newborns look sort of like aliens.) Your dad and I were looking at pictures yesterday of the day that we brought you home and I was so amazed at how much you have grown and turned, from my little meatloaf, into an honest-to-goodness person. Like, with a personality. And likes and dislikes. And a VOICE. Because, holy cow, do you like to use your voice. You are so beautiful and REAL and perfect and I can’t imagine my life without you. Even if you are a pain in the ass when it is time for you to sleep. Or for me to sleep. Or, like, if someone in the neighborhood is trying to sleep. (You have a serious grudge against sleeping. Which I may or may not have mentioned to you before.)

You have eight teeth now (possibly nine, but I will be DAMNED if I try to stick my fingers in your mouth right now as you have discovered, and seem to have an affinity for, BITING) and you like to eat. Like, more than anything EVER. You love puffs, and lil’ crunchies and pears and bananas and grapes, strawberries and paper towels. (You know, because they are totally delicious when covered in all the aforementioned fruits that I have just wiped from your face, hands and feet…) It cracks me up that you are JUST about as finicky as your dad is when it comes to food. (Meaning, simply, you don’t like peas. The end.) You will eat just about anything that gets close enough to your mouth. And you have the cheeks to prove it. Let me tell ya, little lady.

Just the other day, I was telling a friend of mine (who had one of her daughters just six days after you were born) that you have absolutely no desire to figure out your walker (or be placed in any other freestanding contraption, these days) and that you will allow me to place you into it. But that you will then stare at me with those sad little eyes and start to cry, because, “MOM! THIS THING DOESN”T DO ANYTHING!” and then I usually give you a little nudge and you like that until you realize that, in order to keep the momentum, you have to actually MOVE your chubby little legs. And then you get pissed again. SO, needless to say, the walker has not been a favorite of mine. But yesterday, after explaining this to said friend, I thought I might give it another try. You know, because I am a glutton for punishment. So I put you inside the walker. And you didn’t get upset. But you also didn’t move. You shifted your attention to Rachel Ray on TV (I think she was making some sort of buffalo chicken deliciousness, which explains why you were so interested) and seemed not to mind that I was actually DOING something on the laptop. (You hate it when I touch ANY electronic devices that you cannot pound on or throw on the ground.) I called to you a couple of times from across the room. And I even planted by gigantic, pregnant ass on the hardwood floor to possibly coerce you to come to me. And you didn’t. And you didn’t. And you didn’t.

Until you DID.

And then you attacked. And you rolled over my toes while I was trying to stand up and make room for you to roll about. Then you took a giant crap (which seemed to please you immensely), and then you knocked over about 50 XBOX games and broke the tower that they used to reside in. But, I wasn’t mad, my dear. In fact, I was so proud that I started to cry. Of course, at first it was pride that made me cry. And then I realized that, in order to remedy the mess that you had just made, I would not only have to deal with poop, but I would have to get back down onto the floor again. And I don’t know if you know, but I am 33 weeks pregnant today. And mommy doesn’t enjoy the floor. But you got the hang of it, and I was proud. And then it took me 35 minutes to get up.

You have also started to wake up at ungodly hours of the night and insist upon playtime. No one is a fan of this. Except for you. I am having a hard time adjusting to waking up at 3 and then playing until 5 and then you sleeping until 10. As much as I have wished to sleep until ten, this is not exactly what I had in mind. I hope that you stop this soon.

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This face made cleaning up that garlic butter disgustingness totally worth it.

Tonight, you noshed on a breadstick. I gave it to you against my better judgment, but it turned out to be pretty hilarious and I am glad that you enjoyed yourself. You know, I WAS glad, until I had to clean you up. And you were covered in buttery garlic mess. That was not so much fun. And I just found some of this mess behind my ear. So, there’s also that.

All in all, you are a lot of fun. And you keep your father and I laughing all the time. And, you know, we love you despite your non-sleeping, mess-making, toe-breaking antics. Because we made you. And because you are, quite possibly, the cutest, most amazing little girl I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. Nay. You just ARE. You rock our faces off and we are excited about, next month, celebrating keeping you alive for an entire year. Because that, little one, is a big freaking deal for us. And you, I guess. Because, well…you’re the one who was in danger. After all, you got US as parents. But we are doing a damn fine job making you into all kinds of awesome. At least, I like to THINK we are helping with that. But it could just be all you. Whatever. You are one cool kiddo. And I ain’t afraid to say it.

Next month, when I write your ONE YEAR OLD letter, I will probably be a blubbering mess. And. for that, I will go ahead and apologize now. But hopefully, you will forgive me because you will see that it isn’t just the pregnancy hormones, but the fact that you are the best thing that has ever happened to me and I appreciate every miniscule thing that you do. Because you are my reason for getting up every morning. (Partially because if I didn’t get up, you would continue to pull my hair or kick me in the kidney.)

I love you, kiddo. I love you more than these letters will ever tell you.

Happy Eleven Months!

Love,

Mom

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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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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)

Open Letter to Baby L at 7 Months

Dearest Lilah,

You are a little over seven months old now. Over the last month, you have had your six month shots, experienced your first Thanksgiving, your first Christmas and your first New Years Eve party.  You did really well through all of the excitement, I must say. You are kind of a rock star. You have so much personality now. You have two teeth on the bottom and you don’t hesitate to smile freely at almost everyone you come in contact with, as if you are trying to show them off. You desperately want to crawl but can’t seem to figure it all out yet. But you are ridiculously strong and if you had figured out balance, I am pretty sure you could walk a mile on those crazy strong legs.

Your shots went better this time. Probably because I felt better because, since he broke his foot and has been out of work for a month, your dad was able to come and witness the horror hold you so that I didn’t cry my face off while that mean lady stabbed you with needles. (She is neither a mean lady, nor does she stab you, but I am your mom and in that moment, she is the antichrist and she is stabbing furiously at your little, chubby thighs and she is lucky that *I don’t carry a switchblade…anymore…) I am always grateful when your father can take part in your check-ups because you seem happier when both of us are around. Especially when you are naked and cold and have strangers prodding you.

Thanksgiving was pretty uneventful. We visited your Grandma J and Grandpa Willie, and you did really well all day until we got home for our second dinner. And then your Great Aunt Carol (who loves you to itty bitty pieces and usually makes you super happy) tried to hold you and you screamed your head off for thirty minutes until you wore yourself out and fell asleep. No one held the little tantrum against you though. Because you have those gigantic blue eyes that you inherited from me, which will get you out of most unfavorable situations, well into your teen years. (Just don’t try to use them on me, little lady. I invented this game.)

Christmas is a hard one for me, Lilah, I haven’t enjoyed it in a very long time. You see, and I am sure that you know this by now, Christmas is mommy’s birthday. And I know, I know, most people really enjoy their own birthdays because they get presents and a cake and there are candles and everyone celebrates you and stuff.  But Christmas birthdays aren’t really like that. You kind of forget that it is your birthday because of all the madness and running and family scuffles about when to take the ham out of the oven. But that part doesn’t much bother me either. I could handle that. But, ten years ago, on Christmas Day, my grandmother, your Great Grandma Shirley, passed away. She was the most important person in mommy’s life and she was a saint (and I don’t use this term loosely) and anyone who knew her will tell you that. I have had a very hard time getting past the loss of her. I have tried to avoid Christmas celebrations every year since that day, my 23rd birthday. Christmas is not easy to avoid. I am telling you this now because I want you to know that, because of you, for the first time in ten years, I have had a real reason to celebrate. You bring me so much joy, my beautiful daughter. You are the light in every day. And while, this year, I still missed my grandma’s voice terribly, and her smell and the hugs that she gave that were so much better than hugs from anyone else, I was able to fill myself with the joy of you and be thankful, that even though on this day I had lost such a wonderful person, from here on out, I have you. And I look forward to next Christmas, and the one after that, and the next one. Because you will be there. Because seeing your smile will be everything that I could ever want for my birthday/Christmas gift. So, thank you, my darling. Thank you for giving me Christmas back.

All of my love, always.

Mom

* I never actually carried a switchblade. But I do routinely threaten to cut people. I’m just frontin’.

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An Open Letter to Baby L at 6 Months

Dear Lilah,

Oh my goodness, how time is flying by. You are six months old today! (I know! It totally IS exciting that your slack-ass mom finally is ON TIME.) I was lying in bed staring at you as you slept last night, thinking about how I still can’t believe that I actually grew you inside of my body. And I wondered if I will look at you when you are 40 and still be so amazed at the whole idea. I can’t imagine ever not being mystified by this fact. But I am sure at 40, when you are a lot bigger (I hope) it will be even harder to imagine. Plus, you might even have kids of your own. And then I will be amazed at how YOU grew THEM in your body. Oh, gosh. All this thinking was really exhausting. But it came down to one thing. I made you. And that blows my mind. Every day.

You have been teething for what seems like an eternity and you have STILL not popped out a tooth. This is distressing because you are frustrated and cranky. And you are dripping with spit nearly every second of every day. And you want to chew on my fingers a lot. Which is fine, except that sometimes, I need to use them for other things. (Like blogging. Duh.) It seems like a tooth might occur within the next couple of days, though. You have one attempting to escape your bottom gums as we speak. It makes you furious. And it makes me want to run far, far away. (Of course I couldn’t do that because, even when you are crying and chewing at me, you are seriously too cute for me to put into words.) We are keeping our fingers crossed for some serious relief in the near future. (Please let it come today!)

Yesterday, your father put your crib together. And no, we have not been making you sleep on the floor since you were born. But the only place that you were content was in your sleeper (amazing sleeping contraption that saved Mommy’s life) until now and I really didn’t want to quit it. (I will never quit you, amazing sleeping contraption.) Unfortunately, your feet are starting to pop out of it. And, while this is super cute and hilarious, and you still seem comfortable, I think this means it has to be retired. Your crib is pretty pimptastic, though. And you slept like a baby rock in it last night.

Your father and I sing a lot of songs to you. Your dad’s approach is mainly to make up songs about whatever he happens to be doing or whomever happens to be in the room at the time. This is usually pretty comical. Sometimes he dances around and I like that because you are about the only person who isn’t embarrassed of your father’s dancing. I think it makes him feel better about his lack of “Skillz”. I, on the other hand, like to sing you a variety of classics. Because that is how I roll. I started out always singing you Beatles songs. Because you seemed to really enjoy “Penny Lane” and “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds“. Then, one day, I caught myself singing Primus  to you and I thought that might be a bit inappropriate. That, and I hate Primus and I have no idea why or how that even happened. But at least it only happened that one time. I sang you to sleep to “La Vie Boheme” from the “RENT” soundtrack the other day. Which may also have been inappropriate but I have decided that until you know what I am talking about, I will stick with what works. Mostly, and this has been a constant since you were born, I sing Lisa Lisa and Cult Jam to you. (Your father does too. Don’t let him tell you any differently, either.) I sing the chorus of THIS SONG to you CONSTANTLY. And you love it. Because the eighties, despite what you may have heard, were a fun time for music. I am sure that, by the time that you read this letter, I will have introduced you to Cyndi Lauper and you will know just how unusual she is. (And you won’t get that, because you don’t know that my favorite Cyndi Lauper album is obviously, “She’s so Unusual“.) Anyway, you like for your father and I to make jackasses of ourselves for your benefit.

I am not sure that I mentioned before that I refer to you as “Lilahkin Skywalker”, but I want you to know that this is catching on. And I hope that it is still commonplace when you are a teenager. (And it might be cool. Still. Again? Whatever. I guess I will find out when the time comes.)

As always, you rock my face off and I am so excited to get to be with you every day. When I think about how much I love you, I smile so much, I injure my face. And I hope you remember that if/when I don’t get you the car that you want.

Love always,

Mom

Open Letter to Baby L at 5(ish) Months

Dear Lilah,

You are five months old already! (Okay, you are actually closer to six months old but things have been very busy around here and your mom is a slacker.)

You are growing like a total weed right now and have started to eat “solid” foods. I don’t know why these are called solid at all because they are really just mashed up things that used to be solid. But whatever. You like bananas! You love being out on the town with me and you love to be outside. In fact, sometimes, taking you outside is the only way to get you to stop fussing like a maniac. Because, dear Lilah, you are at a stage in your life where you are no longer content to lie down. Or be held. When I am holding you, you want to get down. When you are down, you want to sit up. When you are on your tummy, you want to GO. But you can’t really do these things on your own yet. So, you get super angry and frustrated and act like a psychopath. This usually happens when it is nap time.

Nap time is also interesting. When you were a tiny thing, you seemed to do nothing but eat and nap. You still love eating (as evidenced by your cheeks) but napping tends to be a little more difficult than before. You do it, but reluctantly. You tend to want me to lie down with you for a period of time beforehand, so that you can repeatedly slap me in the face or grab ahold of my bangs and pull like they are a life preserver and you are drowning. This behavior makes you very happy. I let you do it, but fear I may become bald soon.

During this past month, you took your first plane trip all the way across the country to Las Vegas, where you witnessed your father and I get married. You were so well behaved on the plane that strangers were commenting on what a wonderful baby you are. I was inclined to agree. You are sort of wonderful. Elvis walked me down the aisle at the wedding and sang songs to you and you were elated. Elvis said you are an angel. Again, I was inclined to agree. You toured the Las Vegas strip in your stroller and silently took in all the sights and voices of all the different people. We didn’t let you gamble though, because you have yet to get a job and earn your keep.  But I am sure that that will happen in time. Like, by the time you’re 3 or something.

You were also baptized, met my father and step-mom (your grandparents), your great-grandmother, and your great-aunt and uncle. You wore a frilly, white dress and you looked like you should have wings and a halo. You sing songs after you eat and when you are lying in your sleeper, waiting for me to pick you up. You got to spend a lot of time with your Aunt Fish Head and are slowly breaking her down and making her decide to have a baby of her own, because, yes, you are that awesome.

Last night, you and I watched the election coverage together. And we were elated to hear that President Barack Obama was re-elected. You did a little squeal of glee. (Actually, you squealed with glee for several hours while your father snored, both of you preventing me from sleep and forcing me to read all the hideousness people were posting on social networks regarding the election results. No bueno.) It was a big day for the United States. For the LBGT community. For women. And I am so glad to have been a part of it. And someday, when you’re older, I will tell you all about this day. But for now, I will just tell you that good things are happening. And I hope that, by the time you are old enough to read this, you will have the equality that we strive for now. But I won’t get all political on you now. You’re just a baby.

I am so glad that you are here and I cherish every day with you and I am so looking forward to all the progress that you will continue to make in life. I love you.

I LOVE YOU. (Just in case you didn’t get it the first time.)

Mom

 

Updates and a Liebster!

I can’t believe how long it has been since I have had the time to sit down and actually write a post! Between all the out of town visitors hese past couple of weeks, Baby L’s baptism and just the general craziness that is my life, I just either haven’t been motivated or just haven’t felt like I could put anything down into a coherent post. And yes, despite my sailor mouth and my indifference about religion in general, I had Baby L baptized. Because her great grandparents would have wanted it that way and nothing would have made them more proud. But I won’t get into all of that stuff, because I don’t want to get all mushy on y’all after such a long time without any posts. That seems unfair.

A couple of things.

1. I hope that you guys are exercising today, if you haven’t already, your right to vote. I haven’t gotten out to the polls yet, but I will be there soon. And if I have to, I will drag this baby with me and I will stand there for as long as it takes. Because this, my bloggy friends, is important. But you know that. Because you are all awesome.

2. I’m not used to saying, “my husband”. It makes me feel like a fake. But then, saying “my daughter” still makes me feel a little weird too.

3. You can imagine my surprise yesterday when I realized that I was given the Liebster Award from Eileen over at Giving Her All She’s Got ! You know, considering that I haven’t posted in, like, a year or something. (Oops!) Thank you so much, lady! So, here’s the scoop:

The Liebster Blog Award rules are:

1) Answer the 11 questions written by your nominator.
2) Nominate 11 7 other bloggers who have less than 200 followers.

3) Write 11 of your own questions for each nominee to answer.

So, here are my questions from Eileen!

  1. What is your favorite post you have written?

This is a hard one for me. I don’t often re-read my posts because…well…I don’t have time. I guess that there are several that I really like, but I think my favorite today would be this one because it reminds me of that time, just before Baby L was born, when I was finally coming to grips with things. And it took a while, believe me. If you follow my blog and have for any period of time, then you are well aware that I was not the happiest about getting knocked up. My, how things have changed.

2. Why did you begin blogging?

I began blogging a little over a year ago after finding out I was pregnant. I was miserable, scared, and generally blah. And I thought that having some sort of honest outlet would help me cope with the changes I was about to go through. I felt I couldn’t be completely honest about my feelings with friends and family because I didn’t think that anyone would understand my fear. Or that I wasn’t all glowing and super excited.

3. Why do you blog now?

First of all, I don’t know if you could call what I do “blogging” at this point, because I rarely get to do any of it. But the real reason this blog is still in existence is because of you guys. Seriously, I never thought when starting this blog, that I would “meet” so many awesome women (and men) who felt things similar to what I was feeling. We all have so many different outlooks on things but so many things that we can learn from each other too. I swear to Jeebus, if I hadn’t started this blog, I’m not sure I would have made it through. And I am so grateful for all of my readers. I appreciate every last one of you. So, I blog because you read. And because I feel a sense of community and overwhelming support here. And I can speak freely. Thanks, guys. You rock my face off.

4. What is your favorite date night activity?

Before I was pregnant, (and then had a kid) MB and I used to just go to dive bars and drink cheap beer. And this, to me, was the most glorious thing ever. But after child, I can only ask for a good meal at a nice restaurant, some good wine, and some cuddling. Because, I am a simple gal and MB is a great cuddler.

5. You have an entire day to yourself, what do you do with it?

Oh. My. God. I can’t even imagine this! What wouldn’t I do? Go to a farmers market without a diaper bag. Drink lattes at a coffee shop without a stroller. Read a book. Get a massage. A pedicure. I could go on…

6. If you could give one piece of advice to other moms, what would it be?

Don’t be too hard on yourself. Motherhood is super hard work, and sometimes you will feel like an idiot. And sometimes you will feel like a superhero. And sometimes you will be so tired that you can’t see straight. But you will get through it. And you will do so knowing that you are doing the most important work in the world.

7. Imagine you went back in time to talk to your 18-year-old self, what would you tell her?

Oh man. I barely remember that girl…I would tell her not to rule anything out. To not be so afraid of the world. Or making the wrong choices. Mistakes are inevitable. But what matters is how you come back from them. I would tell her to be free. (But not too free.) And to appreciate every day with the ones she loves.

8. What Christmas tradition have you developed in your family that you love?

A couple things on Christmas.

a) My favorite person in the universe died on Christmas day.

b) It is also my birthday.

c) So, I haven’t really enjoyed Christmas in about ten years. So, this year is where all of that sadness ends and I am actually looking forward to STARTING traditions with my new little family. And I think that my daughter makes it a little bit easier to let go of the bad stuff and focus on making it a joyful time.

9. Any pets?

I had a wonderful cat named Ernge up until about four months ago. I wasn’t able to keep him through the move. And it still breaks my heart. He was one of my true loves.

10. What is your favorite thing about yourself?

I probably always would have answered this question with “my sense of humor” in the past. And I do like that in myself. But, over the past year, I have realized that, contrary to what I have always believed about myself, I am brave. I have overcome a lot. Not just because of things documented here, but this whole parenting thing has made me realize that I’m pretty effing strong. And sort of a kick-ass, fearless sort of broad. Who knew?

11. What did you study in school?

Ha! What DIDN’T I study in school!? I am a perpetual student. I have worked full-time since I was 18 and have been in and out of college for YEARS. My major is listed as English. That’s about the most I can tell you…

And now (drumroll please…) for the blogs!

1. Mother 27 and Still Terrified. I love this blog. Love. The most recent post is a poem written for her son, Jonah, and it melted my little mommy heart.

2. Bellisimom. A blog I have been following almost since the beginning. Good reads and I SO love all the pictures of her little man! (I should really post more pictures, no?)

3. & Squatch Makes Three. Also one of the first blogs I started following. Also one of the only daddy blogs I follow, but it is truly a great (and hilarious) read. Love!

4. Shotgun Fetus. Seriously. I love this lady! Since we started blogging, we’ve both had babies and gotten married (not necessarily in that order…ahem…). She’s a burlesque mommy, you guys!

5. Kathryn Finding Balance. Oh, what can I say about Kathryn? She’s freaking amazing and she blows my mind all the time. Her blog is not about pregnancy, but guess who just started her own pregnancy journey!

6. Dear #$&!% Baby. This blog is hilarious. And you probably follow it already. As you should.

7. Southern Fried Chicken in Vegas. She said recently that we are the East/West Coast versions of each other. I an inclined to agree. We even had babies, like, two days apart!

Here is where I start cheating. Because, it is banana time. And that’s an important time of day. If you guys feel like participating, feel free to answer the questions above on your blog!

 

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Open Letter to Baby L at Four Months

Dear Lilah,

Today you are four months old. Can you believe it? (Well, considering that you currently have no idea, I’m sure, that FOUR WHOLE MONTHS is a big deal…you probably don’t really care…) I certainly can’t.

Your third month of life was SUPER stressful for me because you had a cold and then it went away. And then you got a worse cold after your cousin started school. I spent about 95% of my time panicking and listening to your breathing to make sure that you weren’t going to suffocate. Then I spent the other 5% of my time panicking that I might be panicking too much and wondering if I should be medicated or if this was normal for a new, first-time mom. Either way, it was pretty rough. There was a lot of snot involved. And only about half of it was yours, because I got super sick too. No fun. But nothing the two of us couldn’t handle. We’re like the dream team, you and I.

You have become super giggly, despite all the gunk in your face. You like to look at your reflection in mirrors and you are generally happy to sit in a bean bag and have brightly colored toys held in front of you so that you can grab at them and try and put them into your mouth. You do the same with my hair. But you also like to stick your entire hand into MY mouth, so I suppose we are even.Your dad and I were watching a little show called “Hell’s Kitchen” and having a discussion the other day about how people get to be so lucky as to eat in the HK restaurant and he looked at you, sitting there in the bean bag, recovering from tummy time, and asked you, “Do you have to have tickets!?” in a super high-pitched voice. And you cracked up with him for a half hour while he repeated the question over and over again. I think you both had a wonderful time with that. I should take a video of the way that he talks to you so you can see, when you’re older, what a dork your father is. But, remember, he’s OUR dork. And we love him dearly.

Tomorrow, you will have your four month vaccinations. And of course, I am a nervous wreck because I always end up crying more than you do while also sort of wanting to punch the nurse in the face for hurting you. Luckily, your Aunt Amanda will be coming with me to your appointment so that a) I might cry less if I am not holding you while they jab you with needles and b) I don’t punch anyone for hurting you. It should all be fine.

Your hair is finally starting to get a bit longer and it feels glorious on my chin when we’re cuddling. I’m so glad that you’ll still cuddle with me (not as much as when you were brand new but still enough that I get my baby fix every day) and you are actually getting better than ever at it. Now it is less because you have no choice and can’t hold your head up, but because you want your mommy. And that makes something inside me feel all warm and fuzzy and like I just might exlode.

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You make a ton of faces now. When you are displeased, you make a pouty face that, however heartbreaking, is also freaking hilarious. One day recently, you were dressed up and ready to go and visit Grandma J and you started to cry. The pouty lips were in full effect. But there I was, trying to comfort you, but you were so darn cute, I found myself laughing hysterically. (Sorry for that. I would say it won’t happen again, but I cannot promise this.)

As always, everyone loves you and wants to make you smile. But, for now at least, you save most of the smiles and giggles just for me. And you make your mommy all melty inside. You are truly one of a kind, my Lilah. One of a kind indeed.

All of my love,

Mom

Update: on this day in history, your father put you into the bathtub. In your socks.