Wednesday, May 7, 2008

Letter from Mama, v5

Happy 5 months-old, Miss Lil' Dude!

Five months. Last night I said to Daddy, "Five months?" all incredulous-like, as in, where is time going. You're growing up so quickly, peanut. Your daddy said, "Is that what it is? It feels longer than that, like she is 3." Silly Daddy!

The biggest change I've seen in you over the last month is how it appears that we now exist in your world. When I pick you up from your crib in the mornings, you grab my face with both your little hands as if to say, "Lemme get a good look at you here now, Mama. Let me see your face," then you grab my lips like you are saying, "now say those words to me, Mama, tell me those little things with your mouth that are words." You look at my face so intently, so fiercely, I can feel I exist to you. You know who I am. I've seen it happen in rooms full of people; our friends, our families. You get busted scanning the other faces looking for me, straining to hear my sounds. It makes me feel like my heart will break wide open . . . you know me, I am your Mama.

Our household noises no longer startle you; the dog's cling-clanging collar, my sneezes, or Daddy yelling at the Celtics. You've become comfortable with you surroundings, your home. Before you'd about jump out of your tiny skin, and sometimes you'd cry making us feel bad. And now, lil' dude, your noises are so loud YOU startle us, or the dog. You owe us that I guess.

Along with your emerging personality and ability to relate to us, you have the urge to grasp anything you can get your hands on. Beer bottles, bags of chilly carrots, my earring, the dog's flappy ear, a piece of chicken on Daddy's plate. I love to tell you stories of each object you make contact with, "This necklace here? This is the necklace Daddy gave me for our first Christmas together. Or, "That is a napkin. You use it to write down cute boys' numbers on in about 20 years." Two nights ago we sat in the yard and played with handfuls of grass and we talked about spring and being new to the world, like you are. I love to teach you things, tell you stories. You're such a good listener.

For being so small, you have a big impact on me. You make me want to be nice to mean people. It's strange . . . but when I think of you and your ridiculous grins and toothless smiles, I can't help but feel like I'll be happy forever. It's a shame not everyone can be your Mama, because they are missing out. You are so good.

One of my favorite things to do with you is feed you in your highchair. We usually start the day this way. It's quiet, and I only focus on you. Before it was too easy to flip through channels while balancing the bottle of formula against my chin, not paying enough attention to you. Now, it's you, me, and the spoon. Nothing else. We're usually quiet, just taking each other in. You're like Daddy in you don't like to talk when you eat.

And, sweetheart! You learned a new trick this month! You have perfected the Little Fake Cough. You use this to get Daddy's and my attention . . . it's so staged and so overly dramatic I can't help but scoop you right up. You're smart, lil' dude, you already know how to get what you want. Good for you!

Mama loves.

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