I can hear John’s voice saying, “Hey Baby, I’m your dad.” He said it within minutes of your birth and he says it to you after he plops you down in bed with us in the morning. He says it when he comes home from work and scoops you up as your head is about to explode with excitement. Really, John’s coming home at the end of the day makes yours, mine, AND the dog’s heads explode – its quite the scene.
Hey Baby, I'm your dad.
Your dad wants to keep track of your “milestones,” and so here we are.
You are 9 days shy of 6 months old. You can…….
You are also really great. Despite the raging. And total refusal to sleep.
Posted in Dear Elsa
Dear Elsa,
I spend a lot of time thinking about the things I don’t want to forget about this time in our life. . . I apologize in advance if this gets a little melodramatic. That’s basically my new baseline anyway.
You wake up in the morning farting like an old man. That’s something I love. You lift your legs high in the air and let the farts fly, looking pleased with your accomplishments. We spend at least a half hour every morning in bed together – you lifting and farting – smiling and flapping your arms violently against your sides. You’re very happy to lie there while I try and get a few more minutes of rest.
In fact, you are a very happy baby all together – I like to think this will predict your future personality. You only cry when you are tired, hungry, or hurt and each of these cries is unique and easy to decipher. You spend most of your time smiling at me or your dad – your dad says that you’re like crack for him. And you are certainly like crack for me. When I leave you, even for an hour, I have to control myself and not call your grandparents every ten minutes for updates. When I see you again, I hug you and sniff you and chew on your ears a little.
I hope I never forget your farts. And how happy you are. And how much I like being with you.
Sometimes, I have to admit that I dread you growing up and becoming an autonomous little being. Your absolutely perfect today, right now. At the rate you are growing and learning things, you could be a totally new person tomorrow. A little girl getting on the school bus. A teenager who doesn’t want to hug me or let me suck on your ears. A mom with your own babies.
How does anyone survive the heartbreak of their babies growing up?
Posted in Dear Elsa
Tagged 4 month old, Baby, Baby farts, Dear Elsa, Life, Mom feelings, Nostalgia
Dear Elsa,
I’ve graduated from being a scared, anxiety-ridden, mom-to-a-newborn! I don’t worry about how long its been since your last feeding. I don’t examine the contents of your diaper, convinced that the color/texture/consistency/volume of your poop is somehow a sign that I’m doing something wrong. I nurse you in public unapologetically. I have you on a nap schedule (sort of)! I never worry that the dog is going to eat you anymore. You’re four months old and I really like being your mom.
This morning, your dad and I put you in your bumbo seat, on the dining room table, and we had breakfast as a family. We ate our cottage cheese and listened to NPR. You gnawed on your book of farm animals, drooled copiously, and flashed smiles that made all the world feel like sparkle ponies.
We all felt very, very happy with our lives.
Love,
Your mom
Posted in Dear Elsa, Parenting
Tagged 4 months old, Baby, Hopeful, Life, Mom feelings, Poop
