Baby 2, Letter 7

Dear Baby,

Well, you are a month old.  I still haven't taken a proper nap since we left the hospital.

I've had help. Lovely friends and relatives have descended on us to help us make this transition from one kid to two a little easier, and I cried every day after they left until I woke up with a hemorrhoid my nurse friend Kathy described as "strawberry-sized".  Really.  She saw it.  On the operating table. When I was getting operated on.  To remove the strawberry.  Let's just call it a strawberry from now on, because I don't like saying hemorrhoid and I like typing it and spelling it even less.  And I have done both lately, a lot.

Anyway, I didn't cry that day because I didn't have help anymore, I cried because GIANT HEMORRHOID.  Then I didn't have to cry so much because my mom came back to help again and YAY.

Why did I get the strawberry, you ask? Because of you, my Dear. And this is how you know I love you more than my own life.  Because, Baby, this has been the most excruciating experience of my life. Not the surgery so much, or even the having of the strawberry which was, in a word, horrific. No, its what happens, say, a day or two after the removal of said strawberry that really does a person in.  I texted my nurse friend Kathy on Valentine's Day - that's right - this ruined a perfectly lovely VALENTINE'S DAY - after the unspeakable happened and asked how much more Percoset I could take without dying.  I will let you use your imagination about what might have happened to cause me to require more Percoset than the human body is allowed to ingest in one hour.  I made your father a big dinner of steaks, twice baked potatoes, shrimp, green beans, the works. And I had a glass of Cava a friend gave us with which to celebrate your birth.  And an hour later, I disappeared into the abyss.  I only resurfaced 24 hours later and I am a changed woman.  I have seen the darkness.  I have been to the other side.  I barely made it back.

I have never experienced natural childbirth, but I promise you, this was worse.  I cherish my c sections, but I'd trade them to never have had to look into that abyss.  Your father did a remodel on my bathroom last fall.  He's going to have to change it again because it is the scene of That Which We Can Never Speak Of Again.

What I'm saying, Baby, is that I love you.  Because you did this to me.  And I kept you.  I still rock and cuddle you and I don't say bad words about you or make up scenarios wherein you are 16 and I make you take your father to a dance instead of that cute boy with the messy hairdo because I want to punish you for doing this to me.  Okay, maybe that one scenario.

Let's just say that the last month has been rough.  Two surgeries, very little sleep, and let's throw in the crazy that is your mother who has been trying to put in a few hours at work here and there because she feels guilty for leaving them high and dry.  But it's all like a foggy dream wherein you wake up in the morning and you have the impression that something possibly unpleasant happened but all you remember is the good part where Ryan Gosling came and rescued you from having to eat at Applebee's while wearing mom jeans.  You, Lily, are Ryan Gosling in this situation.  You're that good.

You're freaking adorable.  You grunt and stretch like a little woodland creature.  You have a little rosebud for a mouth and the softest hair - seriously, that hair is so soft, if it wasn't weird I'd say I wanted to make a pillow out of it. But that's weird. So I'll just say that snuggling you into my neck is next to nirvana and holding you is how I prefer to spend 80 percent of my days. Don't tell your dad but I don't actually mind being the one who stays up with you five or six nights a week because it means I get to lie in bed with you snuggled into my arm-nook and rub my cheek on your soft hair all night while we alternately sleep and eat.  Both of us.  Don't tell him though because I'm still working the HUGE MARTYR angle with this.

When I look at your face I fall apart. You are beautiful and perfect and I can't believe I ever considered not having another kid after Johnny because YOU.  What would I do without you?  I'm already terrified of you growing up and moving away.  I've had you a month, and I'm already plotting how to keep you home with me forever.  Don't tell your dad that part either.  I have similar plans for your brother.  This is all going to be so awesome.

I mean, unless you have a better idea, which I am sure you will because I can already tell you are a genius.  You'll want to go to college or something and be a doctor or some sort of avant garde musician and I'll have to let you because the WORLD NEEDS YOU.  Dammit.  Mothers have to be so selfless. I will remember the strawberry and shake my head at all the selflessness I've exhibited through the years and I will remind you to send me a check when you are famous.  But only a reasonable one. You can decide for yourself what the Strawberry Episode is worth.  Your brother has the Gall Stone Episode to deal with, so you might consult him, he'll have had experience with this before you.

Bless your little tiny heart, and your hands and feet and especially your soft, soft hair.  I love you to bits and back.

Everything,
Mama