Lil Bits

Letter to B - Month Twenty-Three

Dear Brooks,

I just asked you if you wanted a banana and you furrowed your brow and said “no” like it was the most asinine question that had ever been posed to you.  You do this a lot these days.  Everything is either “no no no” or “yes yes yes”. 

You will learn when you are older that sometimes when you meet people, you will have an immediately negative feeling in your gut and you just won’t like them.  You won’t know why.  But your gut will, and I hope you figure out how to listen to it sooner rather than later. 

When you first joined this new class at school, there was a little boy named Hudson, and the very first day I dropped you off, I decided that I did not like that boy.  And I felt really guilty about that, because while my gut is often correct, I felt a little odd about having such strong, negative feelings for a seemingly sweet, two-year old boy.  But my gut, yet again, has proven to be right, and over the last few months, I have seen Hudson push a little girl to the floor, push a little boy into a window, kick a girl’s chair over while she was sitting in it, steal food from you, steal a toy from someone else, and you mention his name at home all the time, but only when you fall down, or in conjunction with the word “boo boo”.  I asked your teacher about him and she only looked down, pulled the corners of her mouth back, inhaled loudly, and then walked away.  We ask you questions about school all the time and it’s fun to pretend like we’re having a little conversation with you, but when trying to get some information about your true feelings for Hudson, our conversations can be a bit less than fulfilling. 

Me:  “Do you like playing with Lillian?”

You:  “Yes”

Me:  “Do you like playing with Lucas?”

You:  “Yes”

Me:  “Do you like playing with Hudson?”

You:  “Yes”

Me:  “Do you like playing with Snuffleupagus?”

You:  “Yes”

This is the problem with sending you to school so young.  I still think it is a wonderful place for you, but if I had my druthers, I’d wait until you were old enough to actually tell me what is going on. 

Even worse, they split your class in half for a portion of the day, and your half is made up of you, Hudson, and four little girls.  All of the rest of the boys are in the other half and when I asked how they decided to split, I was told that you are the easiest child to work with, so they thought it would be good to pair you with the most difficult. 

I really cannot believe we are dealing with stuff like this so early, and I am not doing anything about it yet, but if Hudson doesn’t grow out of this little terror phase, I do not want you to end up paired with him for the next five years of your life.  Unless you really do, of course, enjoy playing with him as much as you like playing with Snuffleupagus. 

When I dropped you off late one morning, the classes were already split and all four of the little girls ran up to you and started rubbing your chest like they were putting suntan lotion oil on you.  And as I turned away, little red-headed Lillian wrapped both of her arms around you, laid her head on your shoulder and you both stood there in a long embrace.  Because you aren’t even two yet, this was really adorable and I wondered if I should send you to school in a smoke jacket the next day.  Truthfully, I just think those little girls were so happy to have another little boy there other than Hudson. 

 

You have officially mastered all of your colors and as we are driving down the road, you continually point out the color of everything.  “Twee!  Green!  Twuck!  Bwoo!”  You were deemed a color master one particularly exhausting morning when you ran up to me, pointed to my eye, and said “wred! wred!”  I bought some melatonin the next day. 

My favorite part of life right now is when the three of us sit down to dinner and we ask you about your day. 

Me:  “Did you have a good day at school today?”

You:  “Yes”

Me:  “What did you do?”

You:  “Hee abba ni OOHHHHH!!”

Me:  “Oh!  Lovely!  Did you have fun in music class?”

You:  “Yes”

Me:  “Did you have fun in art class?”

You:  “Yes”

Dad:  “Did you go to Hawaii?”

You:  “Yes”

Dad:  “Did you ride in a spaceship?”

You:  “Yes”

Still.  It’s a lovely way to spend an evening and I can’t wait until those conversations are more substantial.  And realistic. 

You’ve also expanded your use of the command function in that you not only order us to sit next to you on the floor when you want to play, but you’ll also say “Mama!  Hug.” and then do everything you can to get to me and wrap your arms around my face.  That’s the best bossing around I’ve ever received. 

I am quite certain that you believe your greatest accomplishment this month is that you can now hop with both feet.  It never even occurred to me that jumping with both feet was a milestone.  I thought you enjoyed prancing through the house one foot at a time like a flying unicorn.  I didn’t realize that was your attempt at jumping.  But now that you have mastered it, you explode with hops randomly throughout the day and when you do so, you say “hop bunny!  Hop, hop bunny!” (There may be a bunny who lives in the grassy area outside of your classroom and I may have been using that bunny as a form of bribery to get you more excited about going to school.)  What is amazing to me is that we can be in the middle of dinner and all of a sudden you will be so overcome with the physical urge to hop like a bunny that you must get down NOW!  You’ll take a bite and then start trying to jump from your seat while saying “HOP HOP BUNNY”.  I’ll say “are you finished with dinner?”  “NOOOOO!!  HOP HOP BUNNY!” Like you are saying “those things are not mutually exclusive, Mom!  Just because I need to hop like a bunny RIGHT THIS VERY MINUTE does not mean that I am finished with my dinner!” 

We had a wonderful Christmas and while there were times that I thought we were crazy for traveling to both Houston and St. Louis so we could spend time with all of our family, the whole thing was lovely and wonderful.  There were several occasions where I watched you from afar as you played with your grandparents, or your cousins, or your grandmothers as they pointed out ornaments to you on their trees and as I saw your face light up with such beautiful magic, I just couldn’t stop thinking “I can’t believe he’s mine”. 

Love, 
Mama

 

PS – One of our main criteria in purchasing a new home was that it have an ample yard for you.  We accomplished that mission and now all you want to do is play in the garage.  Are you serious? 

Letter to B - Archives

 

Letter to B - Months Twenty-One and Twenty-Two

Dear Brooks,

Oh, Brooks, Mimi and Pappy were hit by a drunk driver last month and it was awful.  This lecture may be a bit premature, but I want to start this letter with DON’T YOU EVER DRINK AND DRIVE.  EVER.  We’ll talk more about this when you’re older, okay?

I went down to Houston to help out with them for awhile and I think you really missed me, because last night you wanted to sleep on my face.  You usually go to bed on your own fairly easily, but last night you wouldn’t let me put you down, so I finally brought you to bed with me.  I laid down, propped up on my back, and you crawled up my body until we were cheek to cheek and then promptly fell asleep.  I waited a few minutes and then nuzzled you down beside me so I could breathe and then a few seconds later – WHOMP – your leg was over me and you were crawling up me again.  TO SLEEP ON MY FACE.  This happened all night long and while I was laying there with this beautiful baby sprawled on top of me with my face smooshed beyond recognition, I couldn’t help but giggle and bask in the glow of that love.  I don’t know if you were saying “mama, just be a mama right now” or “mama, I think you need some extra love”, but even though I didn’t sleep much, it was lovely and warm and like we were wrapped up in a fresh batch of homemade cookies. 

You’re growing into more independence and I think it’s great that now in the mornings I can say “Brooks grab your shoes and a box of raisins and meet me at the door” and YOU DO IT.  Most of the time.  It makes getting out of the house on time so much easier.  It’s also lovely after school when your dad and I sit and watch you play independently.  Whether you’re taking all of your toy cars and walking them one by one to the bottom step of the stairs to line them up and then bring them back one by one to your toy bin, sometimes I think after a long hectic day of school, you enjoy the peace of working on a task alone. 

But there are a few games that you refuse to play alone and you must have both of us with you.  Whenever you are building with your big lego blocks, you’ll come grab our pant legs or toes or hands or whatever you can reach and attempt to pull us over to the block building station set up on the carpet.  And then you’ll say “mama, stit” while tapping the floor right beside you.  Daddy must sit on the other side. 

You’ve become quite adept at building glorious towers and this feat usually ends in a fit of pride where you attempt to raise the tower up above your head as if it’s a trophy that you are presenting to us but it all inevitably falls apart and your heart breaks.  You’ll say “elp?  I know, I know” as you try to pick up the pieces because whenever I’m doing anything to you that you don’t like, whether it’s putting on diaper cream or medicine or cleaning out your nose, I’ll rub your head and say “I know, I know, I’m sorry”.  So now when anything unfortunate occurs you say, “I know, I know”. 

We’ve also been doing a lot of work to break you from Sheepie.  Quite frankly, it is something so simple that brings you so much joy and I would be completely fine with you having it.  But your school does not agree.  Sometimes I worry that I’m not advocating enough for you and that I should force them to allow you to have it at school, but the other part of me does think that you need to learn how to cope without it.  And I am so proud of you every morning when I say “Brooks, say ‘bye-bye’ to Sheepie”.  You’ll look at me and shake your head no and I’ll say “just one more suck and then say ‘bye-bye’” and a few seconds later you’ll throw Sheepie in your crib and say “bye-bye, I know, I know”.  It is so precious and heartbreaking.  I hate asking you to leave her behind, but I think it’s so important for you to have some control in that situation instead of me taking her from you.  I’m so proud of how well you handle that.  You’re growing up so fast. 

Your brain is still amazing and I still can’t believe that you have all of our car symbols memorized.  Whenever you see a Toyota, you’ll say “Mama!”  When it’s an Infiniti symbol, you’ll say “Daddy!”  At first I thought this was just a coincidence, but when we are driving down the road you do it all the time, you are always right, and you’ve even added “Mimi!” when you see a Lexus and “Pappy!” when you see a Mazda.  A Mazda commercial came on the television the other day and at the end there was just a single image of the Mazda logo and you excitedly yelled “Pappy Pappy Pappy!”  That you can recognize the intricate differences in these car symbols is astounding to me. 

Conversely, we have started to wonder if you might be colorblind.  We have been working on our colors for a while and about 1 in every 15 tries you are correct.  I’ll hold up a blue crayon and say “Brooks, what color is this?” and you’ll say “BWOOOOO!” and I’ll get excited and say “YES!  This is BLUE!”.  Then I’ll hold up a red crayon and you’ll say “BWOOOOO!” with just as much confidence as you had when you were correct.  This has been going on for weeks and the highlight was the other day when you took a green crayon to our walls and as I was trying to clean it off, you ran up, pointed to it and said “PWERPULL!!”

You are in love with all things truck and airplane.  They are building the house next store and the day the concrete trucks were there pouring the foundation was the best day of your life.  Dad pulled your high chair up to the window so you could watch while you were eating breakfast and you were absolutely enamored.  It’s also amazing to me that whenever we are inside, if a train, a truck, or an airplane goes by, you know exactly what it is from the sound.  You’ll start shouting “Choo choo!  Choo choo!”  or “Airpane!  Airpane!” or “Truck-truck!  Truck-truck!”  Keeping in line with your stubborn personality, if we’re outside and I see an airplane first and point it out to you, you’ll look at me like “yeah, whatever Mom, I see those all the time”.  But if you see one first, you start running and pointing at the sky screaming “AIRPANE AIRPANE AIRPANE!!!!!”  I can’t wait until you grow up and find out that your daddy used to fly those things.  It’s going to blow your mind. 

I’ve had to start getting a little more creative with your menu.  You’ve started to get a bit more picky – probably because you have now tasted the glorious wonder of a your first french fry.  I’ve learned that you like to dip things so I went through a phase of serving everything to you in the form of nachos.  You devoured meatloaf nachos, pea and carrot nachos, and even a more traditional version with black beans and fresh red pepper – something you wouldn’t touch before I allowed you to put it on a tortilla chip.  My next test is broccoli.  If you’ll eat broccoli off of a tortilla chip, I’m sold. 

All in all, you eat a very healthy diet and I really need to start feeding myself the same way.  The other night your dinner consisted of fresh avocado for an appetizer, steamed chicken and veggies for the main course (I didn’t even have to put it on a tortilla chip!), and blueberries for dessert.  I ate a handful of potato chips. 

Mimi and Pappy were in another, even more horrific, car accident about ten years ago and I will tell you that the first time you realize that your parents aren’t invincible it is absolutely life changing.  Things will never be as they were before.  I remember when I first started my professional career, my boss called in sick with a cold and I remember thinking “But you’re a father.  Fathers don’t get sick.”  I had the luxury of believing that for the first 20+ years of my life. 

Your mimi and pappy are the toughest, most amazing people I know and I was so angry at them after the accident because I think they push themselves too hard.  Getting your 73 year old pappy to take a nap is more difficult than getting you to take one.  But as I was nagging them to rest and let themselves heal, I thought about me feeding myself potato chips and realized that I really need to take better care of myself so that it is a long, long time before you realize that I am not invincible.  

I’m working on it. 

Love, 
Mama

PS - Happy Halloween, my lovely little tiger cub.  

Letters to B - Archives

Letter to B - Month Twenty and Three-Quarters

Dear Brooks,

Your letter is so very late this month, mostly because we believe you may have some additional food allergies and I’ve been spending most of my free time researching that topic, but also because I’ve had an insane case of writer’s block for some reason, which is especially odd because these last 7 weeks have been incredibly marvelous with you and I have so many good things to say. 

I think we’ve finally reached a point in our relationship where you understand that you are supposed to listen to me.  For now.  The other day, you were climbing up the back of your high chair, and since I was making meatloaf with my hands covered in raw meat, instead of rushing over to physically move you, I just looked at you.  With eyes wide as saucers.  Like a deranged owl.  I made my eyes get so big, I honestly felt like they might pop out of my head and while you were giggling as if you were so proud of yourself for climbing Everest, I said “feet on the floor, Brooks.  I’m serious.”  And your entire demeanor changed as you lightly stepped down from the chair and rushed over to hug my leg. 

This is good news because you had really been kicking our asses recently. 

What I really liked about that situation is that there was a period where instead of me forcing you not to do something, we communicated in a way, and you made your own decision to get down.  Only because I didn’t want to drag my possibly salmonella-laden hands halfway across the kitchen.  That was a good lesson for me. 

I can’t remember the last time you hit me, or anyone.  I’m not foolish enough to believe that behavior will never return, but for now, that appears to have been a short phase and I am thankful. 

As I was boarding a plane to Chicago for a work trip, I received a text from your father that said “school called.  B has a fever.  Going to pick him up.” and I was two steps away from being that crazy woman on the plane screaming for them to open the door and let me off when we started rolling away from the gate and I was stuck.  Truthfully, I think that ended up being a good thing.  Your father took excellent care of you – the only time he had cared for you alone when you were sick – and I think it was a great time for you both to bond.  And I went out to nice adult dinners, drank wine, and went to sleep in a quiet bed with no possibility of being awoken by the sounds coming from a baby monitor in the night. 

When I returned home, your fever was gone, but you were still under the weather and I found you sitting in your high chair with your father looking exasperated across from you.  You were crying and throwing food on the floor and your dad said “he is being so irrational.  He keeps asking for food and then he takes one bite, screams, and throws it on the floor”.  And I said “he’s not being irrational.  He’s hungry, but his throat hurts.” 

So, I want you to remember – this is very important! – that when you were being irrational, I was the one who understood you.  I am certain I will need you to return that favor one day.    

One of the things that keeps our household running is that your father is so regimented and I am so….not.  We are exact opposites in that way.  You throwing cheerios on the floor can ruin his morning and I don’t even notice.  We have a good balance.  But what still strikes me as so odd, what I still can’t understand is how structured your dad is about bedtime.  Not yours.  His.  It is healthy, no doubt, and he definitely wakes up more refreshed than I do, but it is baffling to me that we could be completely engaged in a movie, about to hit the climax, to find out who the bad guy is, and if the clock strikes 9pm, he’ll just reach up and turn off the TV and say “alright, time to go to bed”.  I have no understanding for how someone can turn off a movie in the middle like that.  It makes me insane. 

And what is hilarious to me is that I can already tell that you are the same way.  You’ll pick up a new book and bring it to me to read, and sometimes, by about page four, you’ll close the book, put it down and trot off to find a new one, and I’m just sitting there thinking “wait – I have to see if Clifford got the kitty out of the tree!  How can you move on without knowing that?” 

I have to admit that this phase of parenting has been the most challenging.  I can’t believe I thought it was so tough at the beginning.  A lot of things came very naturally to me in the beginning, but I was absolutely on sensory overload.  I was taking in so many new things – how to nurse, how to change a diaper, how to function with no sleep, how to keep my heart from bursting out of my chest – that it was difficult to remain present in the moment.  I just couldn’t physically process it all at one time.  But now.  Now I’m trying to make sure I don’t raise an asshat, and that is much more difficult than learning how to nurse.  I’m trying to build a framework for you, to set parameters, but since most of the time I don’t know what I’m doing, sometimes the framework changes and I know that’s bad.  I need to be consistent.  But I am working to learn your little personality and what works for you and I’m figuring this all out as we go. 

On that note, I am learning that you are an introvert.  You are a crazy little happy baby at home and each night is filled with dozens of full-body laugh attacks.  But you still join your class at school begrudgingly, looking at me with the sweetest little face, and saying “mama” with such a hint of desperation that leaving you there feels completely unnatural at times.  I thought this was probably normal until one day Joshua’s mother walked in, set him on the ground, and he ran off to the play table and barely turned around as he said “bye, bye mama!”  I looked at the teacher like “what the hell was that?”  So, I asked her again how you were doing.  Do you have fun here, do any other kids still have trouble with drop off, do you smile and laugh?  She said “well, he’s very serious, you know.”  That wasn’t really the answer I was looking for because you are not very serious at home and I feel like you should be comfortable there by now.  So I said “do you think he has fun here?” and she said “oh yes, two minutes after you leave he is having fun and playing with the group.” 

I think your father and I had been dating for three years before he cracked a joke in front of my friends.   

When I picked you up the other day, your back was to the door, so I watched you for awhile and you were happy and animated as you were playing Legos with your friend Lucas.  So, maybe I should just be happy that you don’t ever want me to leave.  Frankly, if you just nonchalantly said “bye bye mama!” like it was no big deal, I might cry myself to work.  Conversely, I witnessed another child thrashing her body against the floor and kicking her legs and screaming NOO! during drop-off and my heart goes out to any mama who has to start her day that way.  Your reaction is somewhere in the middle of those two, and I think that’s just where it needs to be. 

 

You have so much determination and focus and I love sitting back and watching you as you are trying to figure out how something works.  There is not a lot of quit in you.  You were determined to do something the other day – I don’t even remember what – but it reminded me of when I was learning to waterski when I was 6 or 7.  I remember falling from the skis, but holding on to the rope.  For a long time.  For so long, that my face was under the water, being pulled by the rope, and Pappy just had to slow the boat down because I WOULD NOT LET GO.  I remember poking my head out of the water and seeing Mimi screaming from the boat, red-faced, completely out of air, and then plopping down in a seat with her hand on her face and saying an exasperated “shit!”   

I received a long lecture about how when I fall off the skis, I have to let go of the rope, but I remember that felt like quitting to me.  We are going to have to watch you closely. 

The other side of that coin is that being the math wizard that she is, Mimi used every opportunity possible to quiz me in math.  We were at a restaurant?  I had to figure out the tip.  I wanted a shirt that was 20% off?  I had to tell her how much the final price would be.  No calculators.  From the beginning of time, I just remember having to do math math math.  So when I got to college I majored in English.  (Biggest rebellion of my life.)

When we are reading, you love to point out all of the things you see that you know, and you say everything as if it’s a question.  Car?  House?  Dog?  Tree?  Duck?  This goes on and on.  But if I ask you something “Brooks, can you point to the car?  The house?” you give an annoyed eyeroll and plop out of my lap as if you’re saying “come on, Mom, stop quizzing me.  Just entertain.”  And I know exactly how you feel because I honestly loved math, I was just tired of being asked about it all the time.  I’m still figuring out the best way to challenge you without pissing you off.  Give me time. 

But you know what’s really confusing?  If I ask you to point out your body parts – head, nose, mouth, shoulders, fingers, hands, toes – you light up with such a look of confidence in your eye as you point out each one and look at me like “what else ya got, mama?!”  Perhaps you’re just moody. 

While this stage has been the most challenging, it has also been the most rewarding.  If I ask for a hug, you sprint to me, full-force, and barrel into me with all the love in the world.  When you get home from school, you run back and forth between your dad and me and hug us with all your might. 

You also love to play hide and seek, but you have not quite yet figured out that just because you can’t see us it doesn’t mean that we can’t see you.  You’ll regularly bury your face under one of the sofa cushions, with your butt sticking up in the air, or go stand against the wall with your back to us as if we can’t see you anymore.  And we’ll walk around the house saying “Brooks?  Where did Brooks go?  How did we lose him?  I cannot believe we are such irresponsible parents” and then you’ll jump out and say “ahhh!” and we scream like you’ve given us the best fright of our lives as you run over to hug us.  And then you promptly sign for “more”.  It’s your favorite game and you love it equally as much when Daddy hides and you take my hand and we walk around the house trying to find him.  It is a magical way to spend an evening. 

There’s a popular saying – “moms have eyes in the back of their heads” and we do.  They’re called ears.  I know exactly where you are at any given moment in the house because I can hear you.  And I have to remember that because most of the time you are trying to sneak up on me to scare me and I forget to say “ahhh!” because I knew you were coming.  The only time you’ve ever truly gotten me was when you were being exceptionally quiet and I went searching for you and as I walked into the guest room, you jumped out from behind the bed with your arms up in the air.  You are so hilariously fun.  I remember when you were about 9 months old, your teacher said “he likes to crawl behind the high chairs and pop out and scare me when I walk by – I’ve never seen a baby that young do that!”  I didn’t think much of it at the time, but clearly, those were the beginning stages of this fun little game of yours. 

You are completely enraptured with all things machinery.  Two weeks ago, we went to your cousin’s school fair and there were loads of bright, colorful bouncy houses and fun games for kids your size, but you ran straight to the air conditioning generator on the side of the building.  Yesterday we went to a pumpkin patch where you were mesmerized by the tractor.  If I had to predict a future career for you right now, it would be building the technical contraptions in an elaborate haunted house.  I don’t even know what your title would be – Spook Engineer, perhaps?

Someone once told me not to try a family dinner until the youngest is at least three years old.  That made me feel so much better at the time because we were in a phase where feeding you was still like a circus event where the only person actually sitting down and enjoying the meal was you.  But recently, we had a really lovely evening where I made chicken parmesan and we all sat down as a family.  And as I sat there, with your father across from me, and a beautiful baby to my left holding up a napkin over his face to “hide” while his parents said “where did Brooks go?” I thought about how when I pictured what our life would be as parents, this is what it looked like.  Our own little family, happy and full, with a baby smiling so big I can see it through a napkin.  Life is really good. 

Love,
Mama

PS – You now run everywhere.  Therefore, I find it amazing that I still have weight to lose.

 

Letters to B - Archives

Letter to B - Month Nineteen

Dear Brooks,

Last month I compared changing your diaper to wrestling a greased pig and it turns out that analogy is truer than I could have imagined.  You have now assumed the ear-piercing squeals often heard by piglets and we hear this atrocious sound every time you do not get your way.  I get it.  If I had spent 30 minutes concocting a plan to climb on top of the fireplace, and if right as I reached the precipice of that fireplace, a strong giant came and picked me up and moved me across the room against my will, I’d be pretty pissed too.  But we must discover some words to illustrate this displeasure because my eardrums are bleeding. 

Similarly, you have taken to hitting.  Usually when we are getting a slight reprieve from the squeals.  You did this a few months ago, and every time you did, we’d say “no, Brooks, use soft hands” and it took three days, but then, even when you were angry, you would lightly brush our arms with such a gentle display of love and emotional control and I thought “WE TOTALLY KNOW WHAT WE ARE DOING!” 

Then.  You moved to a new class at school, a class where you started hanging around two boys who like to hit and we started all over again.  But I do understand the hitting.  If someone eight times larger than me was trying to put me in a bathtub, when I absolutely without a doubt wanted to do anything BUT take a bath, I would probably reach up and hit them too.  And squeal.  I understand that hitting is the toddler’s version of the F word.  But you are a boy who loves to play outside and I am a mother who will not send you to school with dirt caked under your fingernails. 

On one of my most challenging parenting days, I removed you from trying to climb up a glass bookshelf and you became more pissed than you’ve ever been before and you hit me and I just looked at you, held out my arm and said “go on, get it out”.  And I sat there and let you hit my arm repeatedly for probably 30 seconds or so in an attempt to help you get all of that madness out of your system.  My point:

I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I AM DOING.

But once that 30 seconds passed, you looked at me, sighed, walked over to me, buried your head in my chest and started rubbing my arm softly – the same way you do when we say “soft hands” – and I think it was your way of saying “I’m sorry, Mama, I didn’t mean to take that out on you” and the rest of our evening was lovely and peaceful. 

Take note, dear one, that while that method proved effective in this instance, I will not continue to be your punching bag indefinitely.  We’re working on other ways to express our feelings you beautiful little complicated soul. 

Another new development of yours that I have to admit is not exactly heart-warming is the way you say my name.  When you first spoke my name, it was like rainbows and angels were pouring out of my ears as your voice rose and fell with the most adorable, innocent lilt as you sweetly sang “maaama”.  But as you have grown, you have also become more demanding, and I believe you think I am your wench.  Often you’ll be sitting in your high chair and if I turn my back to you or step out of your sight for a moment or do something other than pay attention to you for every second of every minute, you arise with an incredibly bossy “MAMA!” as if you are saying “WENCH!  Pay attention to ME!  And while you’re at it, GET ME A BEER!”  I do not like this new method of speaking that you have adopted and anytime you want to bring back that little cherub-voice of yours, it will be whole-heartedly welcomed.  

Your dad and I have gone through so many changes since you were born.  We knew parenthood would change us, but it was impossible to estimate to what degree.  Not only do we not have time to do the things we used to enjoy doing, but on some level, we don’t even have the desire to do them anymore, and that leaves us (mostly me) so confused and self-reflective.  Sometimes I feel like I’m having an identity crisis when I rush home from a work meeting to cook a delicious meal, when I choose to use my free time perusing recipes, when taking a trip to the grocery store alone feels like a vacation.  To say things have changed is an understatement. 

While working motherhood has been soul-crushingly difficult, I do think it is the right path for us.  Your transition to your new school has been tough, but you are so happy, social, verbal and you are learning so much.  I really believe it is a good place for you.  And I am enjoying the constant struggle to find balance.  The other day I made orange chicken, a new recipe I was trying, and your dad said “this is restaurant-quality!” and I remember feeling so proud, so accomplished, like it was the best thing I had ever done.  And then a few days later, I presented at an executive meeting, it went really well, and I walked out, high-fived my team while thinking “that was SO MUCH BETTER than making orange chicken”.  I think this working motherhood thing is good for both of us.  We have arrived.  (But we will still reserve the right to change course should things go astray.)

I'm going to tell you a story now and you may not like hearing it because it's always strange to hear about someone your parents dated before they were married to each other - as if it's impossible to imagine they had any life at all before you were born.  But I spent a good portion of my twenties dating an asshole.  Except at the time, I thought he was the most miraculous boyfriend of all boyfriends, so when I found out that he was actually a pathological liar leading a double life in which three other girls also thought he was the most miraculous boyfriend of all boyfriends, it is true to say that I was cut down at the knees.  Gutted.  Rocked to my core.  The whole thing played out like a Jerry Springer episode.  (I hope you never know who that is).

My entire view of the world changed as I could not comprehend why someone would A) lie so much and B) create such complex, calculated lies that required an immense amount of effort.  I didn't get out of bed for months.  Not because I missed him - when I discovered the truth about him, I quickly realized that the boy I thought I was dating never existed.  It was like he died.  And I grieved that death and quickly moved on.  But what I couldn't wrap my head around was how I could live in a world where someone would lie like that.  For so long.  Without me having the slightest inclination.

I carried around a massive ball of anger wrapped in confusion right up in the middle of my chest for years.  A decade even.  It got smaller with time, less pungent, of course.  But every time I saw any of our mutual acquaintances (of which there were many as we went to high school and college together) I was tormented by what had occurred.  So confused that he still had friends, that he looked like such a normal person, that he didn't have an asshat tattoo in the middle of his forehead warning anyone he came across, and every time I saw the face of a mutual friend, all of that confusion came boiling to the surface again.   I couldn't understand it and only found solace in remembering what his face looked like when I confronted him with the rumors - a look of absolute shock, as if even he too couldn't believe he had been living his life in such a way for over a year, and he only looked down and quietly said "I'm sorry".  That was it.  No attempt at denial.  No explanation.  Just a tiny little phrase that at times can mean so much, but right then it meant nothing.

I convinced myself he had some sort of mental disorder because that was the only way I could wrap my brain around the utter absurdity of a seemingly normal and nice person staring me in the face and lying every day.   Even worse, he was a social master, named Class Favorite in high school and when apart I'd convince myself he was psychotic, but when we'd inevitably run into each other, the fact that he could sit across the room and appear so normal and sane made the grievance more impossible to understand.  It would be less confusing in life if jackholes actually looked like jackholes.

Discovering the truth about his life modified my own in ways I never dreamt imaginable.  It completely (temporarily) altered my sense of trust in people, in myself.  You'd think that as I grew up, as bigger, more important issues came into my life, that I would LET. IT. GO.  I received an email from him, four years after the break-up, when I had just sprinted home from Prague to see my parents because they had been in a horrific accident, an event that preceded some of the toughest days of my life, and that email said "hey, I heard your parents were in an accident, are they okay? Did you hear that the Ben Folds is going back on tour?"  And even then, four years later, when I was dealing with something much bigger than a silly college break-up, the fact that he addressed such a horrifically monumental event in my life with such a casual flair caused all of that anger and confusion to resurface.  Even then.  When I had much bigger things to deal with.

My point.  The other day I was in a difficult meeting and I knew the person sitting across the table from me wasn't being honest.  Or genuine.  But because of the Asshat of 1998, I knew exactly how to handle that situation.  I knew to listen.  Quietly.  Not say a word.  Asshats always work themselves into a corner if you give them enough space.  If I could go back to 1998 and tell myself one thing, it would be "SHUT UP".  And then, "pay attention".  If you look closely enough, people will show you who they are.

I walked out of that meeting giggling as I realized that The Great Traumatic Heartache of 1998 had taught me how to handle the Asshats of 2012.  And then I suddenly realized that for the first time in over a decade, I thought of that situation without an ounce of anger, without an ounce of confusion - there was nothing but peace and indifference.  And stillness.

That, my dear, is because of you.  I still don't understand why someone would lie to someone else's face for a year.  But it doesn't matter.  I don't care.  I don't need to understand the asshats, I just need to be able to recognize them so I can guide my path away.  Because all that matters is you.  You have shown me a love and a purpose so great that those asshats now just bounce right off my shoulders, starting with the biggest one of all.  None of that matters.  I finally get that.  You have utterly consumed my heart and my soul and there simply isn't room for anything else.  Thank you for helping me heal.  For helping me change.  For helping me grow.  I hope when you come into contact with asshats during your life that the healing part won't take you as long.  It is genetically possible that you may not be the best at relinquishing grudges, so we may have to work on that.

I have to admit that motherhood has forced some morbid thoughts into my brain as I worry what would happen to you if something happened to us.  Your dad and I just got back from a trip to France where we attended a wedding – the longest and furthest away we’ve ever been from you – and there was a part of me that thought it was completely irresponsible of us to travel that far away together.  Like we should take separate planes, separate cars, and walk on different sides of the street just to ensure that one of us will always be okay.  I know this is absurd.  Absolutely, utterly absurd, but those thoughts reside in my brain nonetheless. 

When we were on the plane, I started thinking of the things I wish for you in life.  There are many.  But I will start here.  I wish:   
 

That you learn to listen to your gut.  That you learn to distinguish the asshats from the glorious, magical people, and that you learn to do so quickly so that your heartaches can be few.

That when you do cross paths with an asshat, that you may release them from your life, peacefully, quickly, that forgiveness may be quick to grace your heart so that you may not waste any more time wallowing in the aftermath of an asshat instead of enjoying the grace of the wonderful people in this world. (I promise you, without a shadow of a doubt, that the glorious, magical people far outnumber the asshats, so please don’t let those asshats ruin all your fun). 

That you find a passion.  That you have the guts to tackle it.

That if you find yourself in adulthood and you have not yet found your passion, that you will keep searching for it.

That you will travel.  That you will travel in a way that makes you uncomfortable and scared, uproarious and free.  That you will push yourself, challenge yourself.  That you will immerse yourself in other cultures – that you will question them, question your own.  That you will dig deep into yourself and figure out who you are, who you want to be.  And that while all of this is happening you will continue to call your mother.

That you will be honest, kind, and sincere.

That when you mess up, you will apologize.  And mean it.

That when you make a mistake, you will learn from it.  

That if you are in a spiral of "this is not how I wanted my life to go", you will step off of the carousel and make a change.  You are the only person in control of your life - in control of your happiness.  Until you have children of your own it will be your greatest responsibility and your greatest treasure.  Fight for it.  Protect it. 

That if you ever wish to get a tattoo, you will wait five years.  If in five years that tattoo still seems like a good idea, please be my guest.  And then come over and tell me all about it.  (We will sit down and strategize how best to break it to your father).

That you will take life in moderation.  That you will have a life, but fulfill your responsibilities.  That you will understand that life is not all work and it is not all play.  It is up to you to find the balance.

That when life knocks you down, you will GET BACK UP.  And then call your mother. 

That you will find love, having never searched for it.

That you will take risks.  Calculated risks.  When I say "risk", I don't mean jumping off the roof wearing a superman cape or racing your car down the freeway or getting a face tattoo.  I mean trying something new, stepping outside of your comfort zone, asking a girl out, eating escargot, trusting a stranger, moving to a foreign land.  Living life!

And finally, that you will always call your mother.  Did I mention that already? 

We didn’t know how you would react when we got home from France.  Part of me thought you might be mad at us or try to play it cool.  But when we got out of the car, you stood there for a moment, with a look of shock on your face as if you were trying to figure out if we were real or a mirage.  And then you ran to me, I bent down to greet you, and we sat there in the sweetest most serene embrace and if you could bottle up that moment and share it with everyone, there would be no war.  You just sat there, holding onto my shoulders as I whispered into your ear “I love you, I missed you, I love you, I missed you” and finally after a period of silence while we stayed in that hug, I said “I won’t let go until you let go”. 

I mean that.  Always. 

Love, 
Mama

PS – As part of your growing independence, you now really enjoy feeding yourself with a spoon, most especially, feeding yourself “goger”.  (Which, by the way, you say with the beautiful lilt that used to be reserved for the word “mama”).  We have adopted a “don’t do for him what he can do for himself” philosophy in this house and I have added “even it makes a mess” at the end for your father.  Thus, the following occurs regularly.  It is so magical to see the sense of pride that comes over your face when you accomplish a new task.  Sometimes I think you know just how amazing you are and I hope it's true.

PPS – You also like to play a game where you jump out and try to scare us.  You think you are hilarious.  We think so, too. 

PPPS – In addition to squealing like a pig, you also eat like one.  You do not. stop. eating.

  
Letters to B - Archives 

Letter to B - Month Eighteen

Dear Brooks,

Hey, Brooks.  Brooks?  Brooks?  Brooks.  Brooks!  Brooks!  BROOKS!  HEY, is that annoying at all?  Having someone say your name over and over and over?  I didn’t think it would be either until you said my name 568,000 times in one hour.  You even have inflection down, which means that you are well on your way to being a Grammar Elitist, and I COULDN’T BE MORE PROUD.  I’ll hear you from around the corner saying “Mama?  Mama?”, and then when you finally see me it turns to “Mama!”.  I can’t wait until you use your first semicolon. 

There were two things I forgot to cover in your Month 17 letter and I told myself I’d write about them here.  Except that now I can only remember one of them.  This happens to me a lot these days.  I used to have an amazing memory, but now I have to write everything down.  Every.  Single.  Thing.  I even bought a notebook to carry around with me to do this and this process was working well until we moved and I forgot where I put my notebook.  I am not kidding. 

But the first is an incident that happened a couple of months ago.  You have many words under your belt now.  I try to keep track of them all because when we go to your check-up appointments at the doctor, they always ask me questions such as “how many words can he speak?  Can he walk backwards?  Does he know where his feet are?” and when I don’t know the answers to those questions, I FEEL LIKE THE WORST MOTHER IN THE WORLD.  So, I try to keep track of those things.  But when you don’t know the word to something, you tend to point and grunt.  Trying to encourage your verbal skills, we’ll say things like “we don’t speak Monkey, Brooks” or “we don’t respond to grunting” and finally one day, I said “use your words, Brooks” and you pointed strongly in a direction in the kitchen, looked at me with all the confidence in the world and said “DABOOO!”  And everybody laughed because it was so adorable that you listened to me, that you tried to use your words, but sadly, none of us knew what a daboo was.  But you are still the sweetest thing on this planet. 

However, I do have a bone to pick with you.  Although the last three days have been marvelous because you’ve been in the most delightful, happy, snuggly mood, it appears that you are taking advantage of your parents.  At school, they say you are the biggest helper, that you love to help them clean the room, and I first found this surprising because we can’t get you to help us pick up your toys at home, most likely because you know that process precedes bedtime.  But, still.  The other day, another teacher told us what a great napper you are and that you just lie down on your own and go right to sleep, which is surprising to me because I don’t know that I’ve ever gotten you to go to sleep without reading you less than ten books.  And I think the pinnacle of it all came when you were left alone with Pappy one morning and when I called to see how things were going, he told me that you had pooped.  I immediately thought “oh lordy, I cannot imagine how that went” because changing your diaper is harder than wrestling with a greased pig.  I’m glad I don’t have to do it in public because holding you down in effort to avoid you spreading poop all over the planet could look a bit worrisome to a passerby.  Again, raising you is a full-contact sport.  But when I asked Pappy how it went, he said “great!  He helped me!  He lifted his legs up and presented his toosh to me like he was telling me what I needed to do!  He even handed me a wipe!” 

 

I’m sorry for the pause, but I’m still trying to pick my mouth up off of the floor. 

 

Um, WHAT?  To make myself feel better, I’ve decided that you are so intuitive that you must have been able to tell that Pappy was a bit rusty, that he may have been nervous, and like a good grandson, you just wanted to make it as easy on him as possible.  YOU SHOULD SHOW THE SAME CARE FOR YOUR MOTHER. 

Even worse, it seems that it is so much more difficult for me to put you to bed than it is for anyone else.  If you had it your way, I’d read you 108 books and then crawl into your crib with you for a long night of slumber.  Trying to get you to bed usually consists of you trying to negotiate with me to read more books, then me putting you in your crib, you refusing to lie down, me telling you that I’m going to leave if you don’t lie down, you finally deciding to lie down, me rubbing your back until I think you’re asleep, me leaving, you immediately screaming “mama!  MAMA!  MAMA!”, me finally caving, getting your father, asking him to put you down, your dad walking in to your room, telling you goodnight, and walking out 30 seconds later with you sleeping peacefully the rest of the night.  And that shit where you listen to your father, but not to me, is NOT GOING TO FLY when you are older.  OKAY?!

I am so honored that you don’t ever want me to leave.  Really, I am.  I love putting you to bed.  I hold it as one of my greatest responsibilities.  I love that you want me close to you.  I know those days are numbered and that one day, you’re going to look at me and say “don’t let the door hit ya on the way out, MOM!” and I’m going to cry and wish that you’d ask me to read you another book.  That is why I feel guilty when sometimes I want some time to myself at night.  I know that one day I will have plenty.  I try to remember that when I’m in minute 34 of trying to get you to go to bed. 

That being said, this morning when you woke up, you wanted someone to get you IMMEDIATELY.  Having just woken up myself, I picked up the monitor and used the walkie talkie feature to say “I’ll be right up, Brooks, just give me a minute” and holy smokes if you didn’t listen!  I didn’t hear a peep from you from that point on and when I arrived in your room, you were patiently sitting there in your crib.  Waiting for me.  I’m so amazed at how patient you can be sometimes.  It reminds me that I should offer you the same amount when I’m putting you to bed at night. 

One particularly adorable trait you’ve picked up is calling out the names of everyone you know.  When I get you out of your crib in the morning, after you’ve said “mama?” 86 times over the monitor, the first thing you do when you see me is look behind me and say “daddy?”  As if you know where there is a mama, there should always be a daddy and you expect him to follow behind me.  The same goes when I’m talking to Mimi on the phone and you say “Pappy?”  It’s so cute to me that you know that where there is a Mimi, there should be a Pappy, and it’s as if you’re asking “is he there, too?”  The last time we were in Houston, when we walked in the back door, you went and pointed at Pappy’s office and said “Pappy?  Pappy?” because you knew that was where he would be.  I was so amazed that you remembered!  You are charming the pants off of this family. 

Your greatest loves are still books, being outside, and the water.  The only way to get you to nap is to put some books in your crib so that you can “read” yourself to sleep.  It’s also the only way I can get you to get into your carseat. 

You’ve recently started saying “Outtha!  Outtha!  Outtha!” when you want to go outside.  We take you out every morning, but it is never long enough for you, and apparently you have not yet comprehended what the hell of 109 degrees feels like.  Or you’re immune.     

And finally, your love of water both thrills and terrifies me.  If you see a body of water, you run for it, face first, and laugh wildly as if almost drowning is the best thing that’s ever happened to you.  So, you had your first official swim lesson yesterday.  If you’re going to love water that much, I’m going to need you to be a good swimmer, so down this path we go! 

You are officially one and a half years old.  Time is flying by at rapid speed.  As always, you are hilarious and beautiful, and it’s amazing to me that I thought life was wonderful even before I heard your glorious, full-body laugh.  Little did I know. 

Love,
Mama

 

PS:  You also love brooms.  You ask for your broom every day when we get home from school and you walk around the house with it.  I’m hoping you’re not sending us a message about needing to clean the house. 

PPS:  This is you playing with your magnet board.  We pick out the animals every day after school. 

PPPS:  This is your mischievous face.  The face you make right before you do something you’re not supposed to do.  HEADS UP:  I know your tell. 

PPPPS:  This is what your face looked like when you saw your father mowing the grass for the first time.  You.  Were.  Mesmerized.  I hope you love it that much when you are 16.  (And because you are adorable, you also now associate the sound of a lawn mower with your father and any time you hear one, you run to the window and say “daddy?  daddy?”)

PPPPPS:  This is what you looked like on your first day of kindergarten.  Wait – WHAT?  No, but seriously, stop growing up so fast! 

PPPPPPS:  One of my favorite things in the world is when you walk up to me and grab my hand to hold.  I love when you walk me around the house.  And I especially love when you're trying to climb something, and you're just lacking a wee bit of confidence, and you come grab my hand so I can help you.  I hope it's always that simple.  

Letters to B - Archives

Letter to B - Month Seventeen

Dear Brooks,

Oh, what a month!  Remember how I told you that I thought the worst was behind us?  That the wheels were being put back on this bus?  I SPOKE TOO SOON. 

The first two weeks of your transition to your new school continued to be traumatic, soul-crushing even, and the both of us began every single day exhausted and emotionally destroyed.  Drop-offs were horrible.  We all really miss the people at your old school, but I think you miss them the most.  And after 14 days of drop-offs at your new school, 14 days of you screaming “MAMAA!” as I walked out of the door, 14 days of me negotiating with you and sitting on the floor with you and playing with you for awhile in hopes of making you comfortable there, after 14 days of having my heart ripped out of my chest every morning, I walked to my car in the school parking lot and got inside and sobbed.  With my head on the steering wheel.  A good, hard sob that had been waiting to come out for months. 

And because motherhood has forced me to be a master of compartmentalization, I then composed myself, drove downtown, and walked into work and led a 5 hour meeting like nothing was going on in my personal life.  And when I walked out of that meeting, I immediately sat down and called various other schools and set up appointments to tour other options for you. 

But when I picked you up that day, the day that started with us both uncontrollably sobbing, you were laughing and happy.  And this trend has continued.  Drop-offs are becoming less traumatic and pick-ups are becoming better and better.  You still run to me every day like a happy puppy, but now sometimes, you’ll turn back around after a quick hug and continue playing with your friends.  SIGH.  I’m scared to say this for fear of jinxing us again, but I think we’re getting through it. 

People often say that young couples should get a dog before having a child, and I now whole-heartedly agree.  There are so many similarities.  Not only do you sprint to me at school pick-up, like seeing me is the best thing on this planet, but I also spend a lot of time digging random things out of your mouth and cooking with you hanging out at the bottom of my feet.  You remind me of my dog, Benji, we had when I was little.  And sometimes it seems that you want nothing more in life than to make us happy, to make us proud.  Your brain has exploded over the last few weeks.  While at Mimi and Pappy’s last month, you learned to say “dah!” as a fun tradition at their house is to feed the ducks every morning.  But I was completely surprised when you came charging towards me at home one evening shouting “Dah!  Dah!  Dah!” and then you opened your hand to show me one of your toy ducks for your magnet board.  It was so amazing to me that you recognized this 2-dimensional version of your real-life duck friends and knew that it was the same thing.  YOUR BRAIN IS AMAZING. 

We now play a game with the rest of your animal magnets where I say “Brooks, can you show me the cow?  What does the cow say?” and you’ll grab the cow magnet and say “MOOAAAAA”.  And when you know the answer, you LIGHT UP with excitement, you are so proud of yourself, and you can’t wait to show us that you know it so that we can clap and say “YAY!!”  But, if I ask you something you don’t know, like to point to the fish, or the horsie, you do this really sweet, shy thing where you look down on the floor and sort of fidget with your hands like you are truly embarrassed that you don’t know the answer.  And this makes me so sad and worried at the same time.  Parenthood is hard, Brooks.  And I know it is so important to challenge you while simultaneously making sure that you don’t get discouraged, that you’re never afraid to try things, and I never imagined that we would be faced with such a parenting challenge so early.  The difference in your expressions when you know the answer and when you don’t is astounding.  I am so glad you care so much.  And I hope you’ll never give up. 

Your language has exploded.  You talk constantly and one day while you were sitting in your high chair and we were trying to get a meal ready for you, you just started rattling off the names of all the foods you know.  Nana?  Appuhl?  Gackey?  (cracker)  Meh?  SOMETHING?  ANYTHING?!  SOMEBODY FEED ME!  You also use your sign language regularly now, but this was first prompted after I gave you your first bite of a homemade chocolate chip cookie.  (Aside from your 1 year birthday cake, that was your very first dessert!)  And then all of a sudden, the sign for “more”, appeared in your hands – the sign we had been trying to get you to use for weeks.  All it took was a homemade cookie. 

You are a little ball of energy and you love exploring our new house.  It is very difficult to keep you contained.  There is a popular saying – “We used to want it all, now we just want to pee alone” – and I always found it amusing, but now I TOTALLY UNDERSTAND IT because your favorite thing to do is flush the toilet WHILE I’M ON IT.  There are no words to express just how much life has changed since you have dropped in and flipped us all on our heads.  At least we wake up lying in pixie dust and baby snuggles. 

You’ve found a new favorite place in our house and it’s the first step of the stairs.  You regularly request milk and then immediately sprint to what we now call your “bench”.  That’s where you love to drink your milk, sweetly kicking your feet away.  And sometimes you’ll come grab us by the hand and pull us over there to sit with you, smiling wildly as if you’re saying “You have GOT to see what I have found!  Isn’t this the COOLEST PLACE IN THE ENTIRE HOUSE!”  You are so marvelous. 

You still race towards me with your mouth open in attempt to eat my face, and as your strength grows, this becomes almost borderline violent.  You’ll grab my hair and pull it towards your face and then gnaw on my chin.  It is still hilarious, and gross, but to me a true sign of pure love.  And I understand, because when you wake up in the morning and you have sweet, puffy, sleepy little eyes, I just want to eat your face too. 

Someone saw a picture of you the other day and said “I don’t usually like babies, but he is the cutest baby I’ve ever seen!  How old is he now?” and I said “he’s almost 17 months”.  She then said “oh, what a fun age!  That’s when they’re starting to get persona—“and I interrupted and said “opinions!  He’s got opinions!”  Most notably that you in no way, no how want to go into your carseat.  Every morning it’s a struggle, a full contact sport, and if anyone witnessed the shenanigans of me putting you into your carseat, they may consider calling CPS.  One morning, I think it took me ten minutes, because aside from being borderline abusive, I’m not sure how to get you in there.  You’ll stand up in the seat and stick your elbows out to the side – bracing yourself for the inevitable leg sweep that I’ll use to plop your butt down.  One particular morning, you were so mad that I succeeded with the leg sweep that you crawled right out of the carseat onto the other side and were just chilling out in the backseat of the car.  Laughing.  Smiling.  Thinking you had beaten me.  Where I then had to walk around and get you and bring you back to the other side and try the whole damn thing again.  BROOKS PATRICK, IT IS JULY.  I do not have time for these games at 7AM in the morning, in my work clothes, IN THIS HEAT. 

That morning, I finally got you in your seat, and resumed my position behind the steering wheel, and stay with me, because this is where things get interesting: I sat down to turn on the car and realized I didn’t have my car keys.  Increasing my “flustered” level, I went inside to retrieve them, then came outside and realized that the garage door wouldn’t work.  I tried the opener on the wall, the one in the car, nothing.  WE WERE TRAPPED IN THE GARAGE.  AND I WAS LATE FOR WORK.  AND YOU COULD BAKE COOKIES IN THAT GARAGE WITH THAT HEAT. 

During the process of trying to get the garage door open, I opened your car door to get you some air.  Did you hear that?  I went over and opened your car door to make sure you could get some air.  Remember that piece because it is a key part of the story.  Then I went to the circuit breaker to check the power, I called your father FOUR TIMES, I called Pappy, and I finally figured out how pull the latch and open the door manually, WE WERE FREE. 

So, I got back in my car and we were on our way until BOOOM, CRUNNNNNCH.  What the hell was that?  And I walk back and realize that I NEVER SHUT YOUR CAR DOOR.  It hit the garage wall as I was backing out and bent backwards. 

And here’s what I really don’t understand.  You didn’t bat an eye.  I endure ten minutes of you screaming and fighting with me to get you in your carseat but your car door gets ripped off right in front of your face and you HARDLY NOTICE?  Sometimes I am so confused by you.  I’m going to go ahead and say that you knew I was at my breaking point and neither of us could survive a meltdown at that point so you decided to take it in stride. 

I know I said this before, which makes me nervous to say it again, but I do believe that the Day of Being Trapped in the Garage was our lowest point and we have to be on our way back up now.  The house is coming together.  We are starting to feel more settled.  You are glorious and awesome and perfect and every time I see that little twinkle in your eye, I’m reminded of what really matters.  Which is YOU, and US, and we are all really, really lucky. 

Love, 
Mama
 

Letters to B - Archives

Letter to B - Month Sixteen

Dear Brooks,

Well, you should thank your lucky stars that you have four phenomenal grandparents because things definitely fell apart over the past month and I’m not sure you would have been well cared for without them.  On May 30^th, I was scheduled to give a big presentation in the morning and then rush to our new house for a final walkthrough before closing that afternoon.  But on the 29^th, the date the wheels officially came off, I came down with a stomach bug – most likely stress-induced – and I didn’t even make it into work on the 30^th.  Even worse, my boss had to give the presentation for me.  THAT HAS NEVER HAPPENED IN MY LIFE.  That afternoon, I dragged my weak self to our new house and when we walked through our new front door, the stone from the fireplace was all over the living room floor.  Closing was delayed, but not long enough, and we’ve spent the last week moving into our new home amidst dozens of contractors daily.  Because moving into a complete house isn’t stressful enough.  We just needed to spice it up a bit. 

Thankfully you missed all of this because we shipped your little hiney down to Houston to be with Mimi and Pappy for four days.  We thought it best to remove you from the chaos completely, and while it was the longest I’d ever been away from you, and I did miss you, honestly, things were so chaotic and stressful that I just couldn’t help but think about how happy I was that you were far away in a nice, peaceful environment.  But one morning, we video-chatted over the phone (you should give huge props to Mimi for figuring out how to do this), and when you saw my face, you dove at the phone with your mouth open and when you couldn’t touch me, you dissolved into a ball of tears.  It made me so sad.  And while I was so happy to see your beautiful face, it made me think that chatting like that was not the best idea because it had to have been so confusing for you. 

You came back from Mimi and Pappy’s with a new trick – you wave and say “hi, hi, hi” to everyone and everything that passes by.  Contractors were still in and out of the house when you got back to us and BECAUSE YOU ARE THE MOST ADORABLE CREATURE THAT HAS EVER LIVED, every time a worker walked through our house, you smiled and waved while saying “hi! hi! hi!”

Amma and Grandpa arrived the next day to provide additional reinforcements and keep you out of the chaos which means you received 8 full days of undivided attention while you pranced around like the King of the Castle.  And while I’m so happy that you had so much time with your grandparents, it’s also made your transition to your new school a bit difficult.  And I completely understand.  You spent a week ruling Mimi and Pappy’s and then a week ruling your new digs, and now you’re at a new school, with other kids, and instead of being the ruler of the roost, you’re processing a lot of change.  I am so sorry about that.  School drop-offs the last three days have been absolutely traumatic for both of us, complete with you throwing yourself on the floor in front of the door today and screaming “Mama!  MaMMAAAAAA!” which prompted me to immediately come back in and sit with you on the floor and play with you for awhile.  It is absolutely a horrible way to start the day and my heart breaks every time I have to leave when you’re not happy about it.  And for some reason, you screaming “MAMA!!!” is so much worse than just regular crying.  It hurts my soul.  But I know it will get better.  I do.  Trust me, okay?  We’re going to get through this together. 

Proof that you are growing up too fast – you are an independent little bugger and you now want to do everything by yourself.  From combing your hair, to losing your mind if I pull a graham cracker out of the box for you because DON’T I KNOW YOU WANT TO GET THE GRAHAM CRACKERS OUT BY YOURSELF?!  There are a few things that need to happen every day that you are not yet capable of doing yourself and this PISSES YOU OFF.  Like baths, or getting dressed.  You have adopted what I call the “turtle” move because whenever we are trying to get you dressed, you immediately roll over on your belly and tuck all of your appendages underneath yourself which makes changing your clothes virtually impossible.  And you just lay there – still as night – and peek at me from the corner of your eye like you’re thinking “if I just lay here still enough, maybe she’ll go away”.  And it’s so flipping cute that I can’t help but giggle and kiss your back. 

You honestly, and I mean this with all objective sincerity, have the sweetest and happiest soul that I have ever encountered.  You are such a happy, happy boy.  Whenever you see us from across the room, we’ll kneel down and you’ll sprint to us with your arms up, saying “mama” or “dadeee”, and you’ll run so fast, you almost slam into us as your wrap your arms around our shoulders and give us the best hugs that have ever been given in this universe.  There is no better feeling in this world. 

You also have a fun new game where you like to pick up things, any things, anywhere, and walk them to us and hand them to us.  Even if it’s a piece of lint, we get excited and say “thank you!” to which you have started replying “DAAtoo!”  This new trick came in quite handy the other day when you took it upon yourself to pick up all of the leaves in the yard after the rain storm that rolled through here.  Such a handy little guy, you are!  We can’t wait until you can mow the lawn!

Even when you are having a really rough day, you are still such a sweet little boy.  Your 15 month check-up was hard on you.  You do not enjoy being examined.  You do not enjoy shots.  And after the exam was complete, I was holding you, and as your cries were calming down, you looked at your dad and said “bubba bubba bubba” like “okay, that whole thing was a load of shit and you people owe me some bubbles when we get home, alright?”  We obliged. 

You still love to read more than anything and I do believe that playing outside in your new yard is a close second.  My favorite thing in the world is when I’m sitting on the floor and you bring me a book and then turn around and back into me to sit in my lap.  It’s like you’re saying “Okay, Mama.  I’m gonna give you this book.  And then I’m gonna turn around and sit in your lap and then you’re gonna read it to me, okay?”  GOOD HEAVENS, YOU COULD NOT BE MORE ADORABLE. 

The good news is that we are in recovery mode.  I still don’t understand why I have every Sandra Boynton book memorized, yet I have to write down every single thing at work or I’ll completely forget about it, but the wheels are being put back on this bus.  We are on our way back up and the most stressful times of this transition are behind us, I believe.  I actually think you’ve thoroughly enjoyed all of the grandparent love you’ve received over the past couple of weeks.  You’ve eaten like a champ, learned a bunch of new skills, and through all this change you’ve maintained the sweetest disposition on the planet.  You’ve also added “nana” (banana), “strawbah” (strawberry), “ahteh” (your buddy Octo), “baaar” (bird when pointing to the sky) and “baaa” (when pointing to a ball) to your language bank and you’re so comfortable with “mama” and “dadeeee” that you actually called for us over the monitor the other night.  We were sitting at dinner and just heard you happily yelling “MAMA!  DAAAAdeeEEEE!  MaMAAAAAA!  DAAADEEEE!” and it was far too adorable for us not to respond, so when we arrived in your room, you were standing up in your crib, smiling widely and you just wanted to play.  I really think you’ve missed us over the last week.  I’m so thankful you have good grandparents who could ensure you had lots of love and care while we were otherwise occupied, but your dad and I acknowledged that we need to invest quite a bit of time in you now.  We are not doing anything this weekend except hanging out with you.  We’re not even running errands.  Sound good?

You are absolutely enamored with our new yard and you strut around it like you built it yourself.  I’m looking forward to a lot of that this weekend.  I can’t wait.    

Love, 
Mama

PS – Just to “keep it real”, you do have a mildly annoying trait of headbutting that we are trying to break.  You headbutted my nose so violently the other day that it almost knocked me out.  Truthfully, you didn’t even know you did it because you weren’t looking where you were going and just leaped backwards like an insane person and your head landed on my nose.  My vision was blurred and I ended up falling asleep with an icepack on my nose.  You are still the most fantastic thing on this planet, but I would not be sad if you grew out of this little habit, oh, I don’t know, yesterday?

 

Letter to B - Month Fifteen - Addendum

Dear Brooks, 

There are a couple of things I forgot to put in your fifteenth month letter.  This is probably because I only alotted 30 minutes to write it.  Regardless, there are some additional things I'd like to document about you, so here goes:

1)  Your favorite books.  You are currently obsessed with anything Sandra Boynton, most notably, Moo Baa La La La, Barnyard Dance, and Let's Dance Little Pookie.   Other favorites include The Snowy Day, One Fish Two Fish Three Four Five Fish, and anything interactive where there is a flap for you to flip or a lever for you to pull.  Clifford the Big Red Dog still remains at the top of list.  

2)  Your new tricks.  Not only do you wave "bye-bye" regularly, even before someone is actually leaving as if you're telling them that you are over this conversation and it's time for them to go, but you also blow kisses.  This consists of you putting the center of your palm smack-dab in the middle of your mouth with your fingers outstretched so that they completely cover your eyes, and then you say "mmmmMMMMMMMWAHH!" and sharply outstretch your hand.  Cutest thing ever.  You also still pat your hair when prompted and you did, in fact, accidentally poke yourself in the eye when trying to get to your nose.  I've quit asking you where your nose is.  

3)  Your new words.  Your repertoire now consists of mama, dada, book, apple, bubba (bubble), meh (milk), no, boo boo (you've received your first of many knee scrapes) and uh-oh (I'm not sure that one counts).  And you are showing comprehension of blueberry, strawberry, water, cracker, sheepie and bear (those are your best buds).  

You had your 15 month check-up at the doctor this morning and except for a minor possiblity that you have a milk allergy, everything is fantastic.  We are going to be playing with your diet a bit over the next few weeks to see for sure.  

You also got a vaccine this morning.  I have a love/hate relationship with vaccines for many reasons, but the worst is holding you down while you're screaming, looking to me for help, and I can't give it to you.  It's horrible.  But I have a lot of issues with the way vaccines are created these days, I've spent months researching the topic, and we've created a specialized vaccination plan for you.  I really hope that by the time you have children things will be better.  I just realized that in order for that to happen, I should probably get more involved with this issue.  Please reference your 15 month letter to see why that won't happen right now.  

But.  My point.  Tonight the three of us were supposed to attend a wedding.  I even bought you an adorable seersucker outfit and I'd bet you were the cutest 15 month old on the planet for the hour you were in it.  We all loaded in the car, drove all the way across town, and about twenty minutes away from the destination, we heard (and smelt) you throw up in the back seat.  (GOOD GOD, THE SMELL.)  Up until that point, you had never thrown up in your life.  We pulled over and damn if you aren't a strategic little puker.  Apparently you had leaned over to the side and done your business in the seat and there was not a speck on you.  You were perfectly clean, smiling, and happy.  

So we pushed on.  And right as we were pulling into the parking lot, you puked again.  So we quit.  Conceded.  Turned around and drove an hour all the way home and with dad in his suit and me in my cocktail dress, we pulled through In N Out Burger.  I haven't been that dressed up in MONTHS.  I was so exhausted today and it took every ounce of energy in me to exert that much effort on my appearance, so I think it's absolutely comical that my night ended up at a fast food joint.    

When we got home, you had some chicken noodle soup and went straight to bed.  I stood and stared at your perfect sleeping face for awhile.  Now it's raining, I'm in my pajamas, and Dad and I are about to snuggle up and watch a movie, so this night has turned out nicely afterall.  Maybe you did this on purpose.  Thank you for that.   (Although I'm still blaming that nasty vaccine as vomiting is a common side effect.  Boo hiss.)  

Love, 
Mama 

 

Letter to B - Month Fifteen

Dear Brooks,

Dude. What the hell is going on with this month. This morning I felt like I was on the precipice of a breakdown as the wheels are definitely coming off of this operation. Like I’m a bus, sluggishly making its way down the freeway until the wheels just fly off, the car spins around into a point of disintegration and all that’s left is the little engine put-put-puttering, smoking, and even though everything else has fallen apart, it won’t quit. Like my heart. Put-put-puttering with so much love for you that I still get up every day and wade through this water. EVEN THOUGH IT’S NECK-DEEP.
 

I know I say something like this every month, but life has truly reached an all new level of insanity. Not only did I just accept the biggest promotion of my career, but we are closing on our new house in less than three weeks, we just got our current house listed for lease, and have I mentioned how much I hate your canine teeth? In all honesty, I love every single centimeter of you, but I am totally pissed at your canine teeth. When you got your first teeth, you were hardly fazed. But these damn canines. These damn canines have made for some very exhausting nights for all of us. One night you woke up screaming at 1am and you were in such pain that nothing consoled you. At one point, you were just walking around your room, aimlessly, crying, moaning, as if you were saying “make it stop! My GOD!” And then you bent down and bit your own arm. While I think that made your teeth feel better, you did not like what it did to your arm, and you started WAILING until I scooped you up and GAVE YOU MY FOREARM. You bit into it so hard and for so long, and when you released, you leaned back, sighed, and looked at me like “oh thank heaven. That felt marvelous. Finally.” Do you know how much it breaks my heart that you were in such pain that you BIT YOURSELF? And do you know how much I love you to allow you to do the same to me? I still have a bruise.

We were actually in the process of weaning you from your pacifier when your canines starting showing up and all of that went to hell. You are now so unbelievably attached to your pacifier and I cannot imagine denying you something so simple that brings you so much joy. I do hope you’ll tire of it before you are five. Your pacifier has a stuffed animal attached to it and I had a grand plan of cutting it off as part of the weaning process, but I honestly believe that you will be so devastated that I just can’t do it. Yet.
 

You still love books so much. When you wake up in the morning, I read to you while you’re having your milk. That’s when I get the best snuggles. You just want me to read and read and read. You’ll crawl out of my lap, walk over to your bookshelf, peruse for awhile, find one of your liking and carry it back to me with your arms outstretched and a huge smile on your face like you’re saying “now, THIS ONE, Mama!” It is the most adorable and wonderful way to spend a morning and every day it breaks my heart that at some point I have to put an end to that game and tell you that it’s time to go to school. One morning when I asked “are you ready to go to school?” you shook your head “no”, crawled over to the corner of the room and curled up in a ball on the floor. And my heart broke as I cursed working motherhood. I hate that some days I have to make you do things that you don’t want to do. I know that’s part of life. I know some day you are going to have to get on board with doing things that you don’t want to do. But you’re still so young and I just feel like a complete asshole when all you want to do is sit in my lap and read and I have to tell you no.

A few days later, you were playing on the floor of my closet while I was getting dressed for work and while I was putting my slacks on, you’d pull my pant leg back down. You are a strong little bugger, so this went on for quite awhile and at one point you folded up one pant leg on the floor and laid on top of it while I was trying to stick my foot through the other one. When I finally broke them free and succeeded in dressing myself, you started wailing and I would swear you were saying “NO MAMA! TODAY WE STAY IN OUR PAJAMAS!”
 

I hate that some days you don’t want to go to school. I hate that life is so frantic right now. I’ve told you before how much trouble I have staying in the present moment, and honestly, over the last six months, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought “things are going to be okay when…”. At this particular moment, it’s “things are going to be okay when I get my feet underneath me in this new job and we get settled in the new house”. Your dad and I were talking the other day and he said “so when do you think we’re going to be able to breathe again….August?” IT’S MAY. We have decided that once we get in the new house we are not allowing any major life changes for at least six months. You should hold us to that.

The good news is that you absolutely love to be outdoors and in our new house, you will have an unbelievable amount of room to play outside. We have a new routine now where after we all get home in the evening, we hang out in the driveway and let you run around. You like doing laps around our cars in the garage. And you like sprinting towards the street. I love that you are an outside baby, and I will love it even more when we get in our new house and you will have a big yard in which to run free. I get excited just thinking about it.

I’ve realized that being successful at working motherhood means that you have to sleep less than everyone else in the house. I am not good at that. I consider myself to be a sweet person, but without sleep, I can turn into a total jackass. The most successful people I know are those who function perfectly with four hours of sleep and I do not believe I will ever be one of those people. But I was so wound up about work the other day that I awoke wide awake at 4:30am, so I just got up and started the day. It was the most productive day I’ve had in a long, long time. I even cooked you veggie muffins and succotash. And I promised myself I’d get good sleep the next day, but because the universe hates when you make plans, the fire alarm outside of our room decided that its battery wanted to die around midnight that night and I laid in bed, fuming, as the BEEP……BEEP..….BEEP pushed me to a straight-jacket level of insanity while your father laid next to me snoring peacefully.

The next morning he very nicely asked me to pick up my pajamas and I immediately bit his head off because HOW DARE HE ASK ME TO DO SOMETHING WHEN HE GOT NINE HOURS OF SLEEP. I know that’s not a rational thought and I quickly apologized. But the reality is that a big part of marriage after kids means battling over who got more sleep, who is more exhausted. If one says they didn’t sleep well, the other immediately says no I didn’t sleep well. And this is all a ploy to guilt the other one into changing your poopy diaper because even though we pay someone else to change your diapers all day, you like to poop right when you get home. I don’t know if we should be flattered or pissed.
 

I allotted thirty minutes to write you this letter today. Feel special? You should. It’s more time than I’ve allotted for myself to bathe all week. I am not joking. But as always, amidst all of this chaos, you are still so marvelously happy and it can be so easy to keep you entertained. You are currently obsessed with bubbles. We have a special bath wash for you that came with a bubble wand and you are IN LOVE with them. In the beginning, you’d try to chase them and when they would pop right when you reached them, you’d like at me with a look of such determination like “alright, Mama, I’m gonna catch the next one. Let’s do this.” Now I think you’ve realized that they are uncatchable and your new goal seems to be to pop them. You’ll chase them around saying “bubba, bubba” and even as I was writing this, I heard you over the monitor saying “bubba”. Either you were dreaming about them or you were hoping we’d come back in and play. Either way I’m happy that you were laying in bed with happy thoughts.
 

The best part of my day, and the part that makes it all okay, is every night when I hold you before bed. I sway back and forth, sing to you, and you either peacefully rest your head on my shoulder or wrap both hands behind my neck and ferociously pull my face towards yours like you love me so much you just want to eat my face. And trust me, I want to eat yours too.

Love,
Mama

 

Letters to B - Archives

Letter to B - Month Fourteen and a Half

Dear Brooks,

Well, your fourteenth month flew by and now it’s mid-April and I’m just now finding time to write your letter.  Our pace of life is so insane and it is so unfathomable to me that from here on out, it’s only going to get faster.  Until you leave for college and then I am going to be BORED OUT OF MY MIND. 

I had to travel for work this month.  I was gone for a whole week and while I thought it was going to be completely awful and I cried when I was dropping you off at school, it was actually a really productive week and I felt more like my old self that week than I had in an entire year.  But I don’t ever want to leave you for that long again, most especially if your father isn’t there with me for some reason.  When I returned home, I was so excited to see you, but instead of tackling me and eating my chin, you were sort of bashful.  You’d smile and hide, as if you were playing it cool.  But then we went downstairs to play and you just wanted to hold my hand and walk me all around the house. 

Since that trip, you’ve been very attached to your dad.  You cry when he leaves the room sometimes and one night in a most adorable display of affection, you wanted all three of us to be together, no exceptions.  I was trying to put you to bed while your dad was putting some things away in your room and when he left, you completely melted down.  Thinking you wanted your father to put you to bed, I called him and said “he wants you”.  This had never happened before ever, and while sad, I also thought it was cute.  Dad came back and as I was leaving the room, you melted down again.  We tested this several times, and apparently you just wanted all three of us together, all night long, like we had all been apart for far too much time.  So, for about an hour, we all sat on the floor of your room and played.  You’d bring us book after book – first Dad would read, then me.  We played with your blocks and all three snuggled on the floor.  All until you were ready to go to bed.  But I think it is so ridiculously sweet that you wanted the three of us to be together and that you made sure that happened. 

On another night when your dad was out of town, I had an unusually difficult time getting you to go to sleep.  You were so unbelievably tired, but you could not go to sleep, and you completely freaked out every time I left the room.  I eventually laid on the floor by your crib and stuck my finger through the slat so you could hold it.  I sang to you from the floor.  Every so often, you’d get up and look at me through the crib slat and giggle.  I couldn’t decide if you were saying “yay!  Mama’s still here!” or “HA!  I AM VICTORIOUS!”  I laid there for about an hour and when you still weren’t going down, I decided to step outside of the room.  And you cried so hard.  But I just laid on the floor outside of your room, closed my eyes, and looked at the clock periodically.  I decided I was going to give it three minutes because a piece of my soul died every time you wailed.  You were asleep in less than two.  Still, it was awful, I felt horrible all evening, and I swear you were sort of mad at me when I went to get you in the morning.  I can’t tell you how much I hated doing that and I don’t ever want to do that again.  I want you to trust me and I hate leaving you crying like that, but you were so so tired, and I knew you just needed to sleep.  But I’m sorry you went to sleep covered in tears.  It’s just awful for me to think about.  Thankfully you are usually a very good sleeper.  We are so lucky in that way. 

You’ve learned some new tricks in the last 6 weeks.  When we say “Brooks, where’s your hair?” you sit up tall, so proudly, and with a huge smile pat your hand on top of your head.  And you’re so used to this drill now that sometimes when we just say “Brooks”, you grin and put your hand on top of your head like “I know what you’re going to ask me!  Wait!  I got it!”  And you are just so adorably pleased with yourself that it’s almost impossible not to swallow you whole. 

We’ll also say “Brooks, where’s your nose?” and I think you know what we’re asking, but you don’t quite have the dexterity to get your little pointer finger to touch your little nose.  Most of the time you end up pointing somewhere between your cheek and your temple.  We’re still working on that bit.  My only hope is that you don’t poke yourself in the eye. 

You are absolutely speaking in full sentences, we just aren’t sure what language it is.  You will go on and on about something, using loads of inflection, many syllables and sounds, arms waving just to help you get your point across, but we have no idea what you’re saying.  Your sounds are so precious, most especially when we hear you talking to yourself from the backseat of the car, but I cannot wait until I understand what you are saying.  I would love to know what’s going on in that little brain of yours. 

You’ve also added “mama”, “dada”, and “no” to your verbal repertoire, but I think you still prefer pointing, hand gestures, and using your special language instead of English. 

You also initiate games of peek-a-boo now.  You have now become the hider.  You’ll pick up a blanket, cover your face, and then magically make yourself appear with the biggest smile like you are the craftiest kid on the planet. 

My favorite new development of yours is that you’ve become quite snuggly over the last few weeks.  You are very tactile and if we give you something soft, you love to lie down like a cat and rub your face all over it.  Pappy got you a soft “sheepie” blanket and you love to nuzzle all over it.  Also, if we’re standing up and doing anything, you’ll walk over to us, cling on to our legs, and bury your face there. 

You’re also starting to snuggle stuffed animals.  I recently pulled out “Octo”.  Octo is a big stuffed yellow Octopus who was one of your first friends.  When you were an infant, sometimes the only way I could get you to take a nap was to put Octo across the room staring at you.  I think with Octo there you didn’t feel so alone and you could go to sleep peacefully.  The other day, I pulled Octo out and said “do you remember Octo?” and I gave Octo a big squeeze around the neck and said “you loved Octo!” and you promptly got up and walked into the kitchen.  Thinking you were bored with this ordeal, I was so surprised to see you quickly returning from the kitchen with your stuffed Clifford dog from Amma.  You walked up to me, squeezing Clifford around the neck the entire time, just as I had done with Octo, and when you got to me, you threw Clifford on the ground and smiled like “see!  I have one, too, Mama!”  It was so cute to me that you recognized the similarity between those two animals, especially since they are so different. 

I love that every month you find a new way of showing affection.  For quite awhile now, you’d rest your forehead against ours and this always seemed like your sweet little way of saying “I love you”. 

But just this past week, for some reason as our foreheads were resting peacefully against each other, you decided to pull back and slam your forehead into mine like a ram on a tree.  I honestly thought you broke my nose.  Because you are insane, you laughed.  I then put you down, and you walked over to a mirror and started headbutting your mirror image and by the time I made it to you to stop the madness, you already had a red mark and a knot on your skull.  And you were laughing maniacally.  I had started to have high hopes of you being a genius since Verbal Bootcamp was working so successfully, but with one slam of the forehead, all hopes were squashed.  What is the deal with that?  You fall down enough on accident!  We don’t need to damage your little brain intentionally! 

This month also marks your third plane trip.  We gave you a B+ on the way out there, but you got an A+ on the return.  You could not have been better.  We decided that you had so much fun in San Diego that you wanted to behave well so that we’d be inclined to take you on more trips in the future.  We rented a house with 4 other families, and there were 6 other kids ranging from 12 years old to you.  I think you were quite overwhelmed the first few days, but towards the end, I think you had decided that we were with our new family and I think you were quite happy about it. 

I cannot stress enough how different travel is now that we have you.  The amount of preparation involved in going on a trip with you is asinine and before we had even left, I remember thinking “wow, I’m going to need a vacation from this vacation”.  But you had such a great time and we had such a great week with good friends that all of that preparation became completely worth it. 

Plus!  You met the Pacific!  And you are IN LOVE WITH IT.  

Because we are first time parents, we did not come to the beach completely prepared.  I had purchased a nifty, over-protective UPF sun suit for you, and even sun socks!  We brought them all to San Diego with us, but the day we went to the beach, it was so cold, I thought that you certainly wouldn’t be in the water, so we wouldn’t need them.  


But you took one look at that water and you just wanted to GET IN IT.  We put you down and let you touch your toes and I thought “certainly he’ll feel how cold it is and then he won’t want to have anything to do with it anymore”.  Wrong.  You ran straight towards it and then bent down and buried your face in it.  Then, as a wave approached, I thought “certainly, this wave will scare him a bit and then he’ll want to get out of the water”.  Wrong.  The wave brushed over your little toes and you laughed like you had just met your new best friend and that wave was the best best friend any little boy could have.  Daddy kept trying to hold your hand, but you’d just pull away and run off towards the water, laughing and giggling the entire time.  

And while I’m sure people thought we were crazy – crazy for allowing our little baby to play in the freezing Pacific Ocean WEARING COTTON – I so love your enthusiasm for life and while I think we’re going to have trouble reigning you in from time to time, I think it’s so fantastic that you just run full force at things and tackle them head on. 

I think I’ve only just now been able to sit back and process the changes we endured during your first year of life.  It was a very tough year for me physically.  My recovery from your birth was very difficult and I didn’t even realize how awful I was feeling for so long until I finally started feeling a bit better.  (To any future daughters I may have, please get your thyroid checked after you have a baby.  Apparently it runs in our family and mine went undiagnosed for far too long.) 

I was also not prepared for the mack truck of emotions that slams you in the face after you have a child.  I have never lived in a place of fear, and the amount of fear and worry that I was overcome with after your birth was more than I could have prepared for.  I have finally accepted those emotions as a part of parenthood and I recognize that they most likely will never go away.  Making sure we provide the best life possible for you is a daunting task.  We’ve been blessed with such a marvelous, perfect gift in you, and I just don’t want to break you.  (This becomes much more difficult when headbutting hard objects becomes your favorite pastime.)  But when you’ve been blessed with such a perfect gift, and life still feels hard sometimes, you feel guilty for not feeling like life is fantastic every single second of every day.  But good grief, when my days are filled with trying to cook healthy meals, finding some sort of concealer that is capable of covering up these dark-eye circles, maintaining a career, a marriage, friendships, decorating a house, DOCUMENTING YOUR LIFE, researching childhood medical practices, vaccines, nutritional supplements, developmental toys, TEACHING YOU WHERE YOUR NOSE IS, reading to you, playing with you, maintaining my weight, my health, keeping up with politics, current events, KEEPING MY CAR FILLED UP WITH GAS, getting my oil changed, and finding time to actually LOOK YOUR FATHER IN THE FACE on a daily basis, it all feels quite exhausting and while life is fantastic, I have to admit that I am not running around shouting “EVERYTHING IS AWESOME” every second of every day.  We have a lot going on.  We are still learning.  And I trust that we will find better balance.       

You are such a gloriously happy little being and we are so blessed that you are such a healthy, upbeat little guy. 

While life has become monumentally more difficult, it has also become monumentally more wonderful.  My heart explodes on a daily basis because I just can’t get enough of you.  You have been so patient with us.  I can’t thank you enough.  And as I write these letters to you, sometimes I think I can’t wait until you’re older and we can sit down at the kitchen table and have long talks about life.  I realize that since you’re a boy, you may not be interested in having long talks about life, but I’m going to keep my hopes up for now. 

Love,
Mama

Letters to B - Archives