Friday, September 23, 2011

The Friday Letter for my daughter

Dear Baby girl,

Well, little bean, you are three and a half months old today.  No, I haven't written you other letters before now.  Mostly because I'm just now rediscovering the meaning of the words "regular sleep cycle" and "quiet."  Since I'm mentioning it my darling, would you mind not waking up an hour after I go to bed, every single night?  I don't know how you do it, as I go to bed anywhere between one and four a.m., but it never, EVER fails that you will wake up ten minutes after I've fallen asleep. Frankly, you've done it far too many times for it to be mere coincidence.  Mommy loves you a lot more when she gets sleep. 

Also, you're a little more interesting now than you were when you were born.  You smile and you giggle now. You're working on learning how to use your vocal chords for something besides screaming your head off, though if I'm honest, I can't wait until you progress past squawking.

You've got a strawberry mark at the base of your skull where it meets the spinal chord.  I like kissing you there.  It's my secret spot, so don't tell Daddy.

You were a bit horrible today.  Everything was fine right up until we left the Teeter.  You see, I figured you would be getting hungry and we should go home before I hit Sam's Club for a brief break.  This is normally a wise plan. You ate, got changed, and seemed happy to sit in your little chair. Then for some reason, one of your brain switches got flipped, and you went ballistic.  Full-on Baby Rage with the red face, ear-piercing decibels, and heart-breakingly adorable baby tears.  Rocking, walking, sitting, soothie, breast-feeding, diaper, - all failed.  You refused to be soothed.  After thirty minutes, I gave up and put you in the car seat to head to Sam's, hoping the car ride would put you to sleep.

You went to sleep one minute before I pulled into the parking space.  You did not appreciate my having to wake you up and put you in the Maya wrap.  Though, I will admit your talent for comedic timing is already well-developed.  You'd paused to rest a few seconds as I went in the door.  I'd hoped you were done expressing your rage at whatever was making you so furious. The greeter leaned over to peek at you, and got a full face of screaming angry baby as you picked right up again.  I managed not to laugh, though I wanted to, even as I apologized.  On the other hand, I've never gotten passed through line so fast in my life.

You fell asleep in the car again, and I turned the radio off so I could see if the ringing in my ears had stopped.  It hadn't, but I still considered it an improvement.  When we got home, I begged your father to take you for an hour, so I could go make oatmeal raisin cookies, and not dwell on the evils my uterus had brought upon the world for a few minutes.  In retrospect, I should have realized that you would not be so easily thwarted, as you blew up in Baby Rage at Daddy.  For thirty minutes.  Eventually, you tired yourself out and went to sleep in the pillow nest on the couch.  We all rejoiced.  The cats came out of hiding.  Your father and I had cookies, and carefully avoided looking over at you in case the weight of our gaze woke you up.

When you did wake up, it was all Jekyll.  Super sweet baby with smiles for everyone, willing to cuddle quietly, laughing during your bath, and smiling at your reflection while you were wrapped up in your pink dolphin towel.  You really are an adorable baby, but don't expect me to enter you in any beautiful baby competitions.  Those things creep me right out.  Tonight we read Dr. Seuss's "You don't know how lucky you are!", and you even went right to sleep after I put you in the crib with your music and mobile going.

Just so you know, I'm not falling for it. 


(Also, I'm still getting used to the idea that *I* am the one responsible for raising a baby human.  Hopefully you'll turn into a moral person with a sense of joy, and the ability to pursue your happiness.  Everything else is negotiable.)

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