Thursday, June 20, 2013

Baby 2, Letter 10

Dear Lily,

You turned five months old this week and you are the size of a three year old.  No, seriously, you're kind of giant.  You're gorgeous and robust and strong.  You can sit up with very little help and you look like you're going to take off crawling across the room any minute - the right lure just hasn't shown up yet to make you get moving.  Your EXPANSIVE wardrobe saddens me - I know you'll never get to wear all the 3 - 6 month stuff before you outgrow it.  I'm maniacally shoving you into three, four, five outfits a day just so I can see you in everything before we have to hand it down.

You're nothing short of amazing.  Starting a little over a week ago, you sleep through the night.  10 hours straight, in the crib, quiet.  THANK YOU.  Let me say it again: THANK YOU.  In this hectic life we live, the fact that you are a happy baby who likes to sleep? Priceless.  I am going to go buy you that pony now.

I had to give you a little haircut awhile back, because Sister, you were rocking a mullet. A rather grand and serious mullet.  Which if you were a teenage boy in Topeka, KS in 1984, that would have been more awesome than bacon-wrapped hot dogs, but since you are a pretty girl in 2013, it had to go.  I do not know anyone who has given their four month old a haircut except me, but welcome to your mother's crazy. I couldn't stand it.  So now your hair is simply adorable, dark and plentiful without trying to be ironically retro. Don't worry - I saved a snip of it in your baby book.  Because that is not weird at all.  NOT WEIRD I SAID.

Of course, everyone loves you, probably me most of all, though your father begs to differ.  Please do not let this go to your head.  I will still not let you borrow the car, and no one is buying you beer before you're 21.

I drag you around to as many places as I possibly can and try to show you off.  It's completely shameless, but I do feel it's wrong to hoard all the cuteness to myself.  Plus, that wardrobe, it really does need an audience.

I kept saying it to your brother but he didn't listen: STOP GROWING.  STOP IT!  He's all big now, and while he's certainly as adorable as the day he was born, I also REALLY LIKE BABIES, so please stay round and cute and keep letting me haul you around while you hold onto my neck and coo.  FOREVER.


Thursday, June 6, 2013

Baby 2, Letter 9

There were ten in the bed and the little one said
"Roll over, roll over..."


You roll over.  And over and over and over.  You are the busiest girl.  Unlike your brother, who really could not be bothered to move much at all and who preferred to be bundled like a burrito most of his infant life, you  like to roam free.  You never needed (nor wanted) a tight swaddle, and you relish the opportunity to show off your kicking and stretching, which I can only presume you learned from your Aunt Lindsey sometime in the womb.  I can't be sure, since she wasn't in this state while you were gestating, but somehow it sunk in.  Your Aunt Lindsey is the kickin-est, stretchin-est woman ever.  Even when she falls down, she's still good at it.  I assume you'll be the same.  One day, I'll explain.

Anyway, you like to use your arms and legs and you were far ahead of the class in the rolling over competition.  Oh, wait.  We don't compete. Right?  Well, whatever.  You did it early.  And you do it and do it and do it, much to my chagrin, because once you get over?  Guess what.  You want to be on your back again, and that, girlfriend, you haven't quite figured out.  So there you lay, like a scrambling bug looking for footing, and dang if you aren't just mad about it.  HEY SISTER, YOU DID IT TO YOURSELF.  These are lessons I had to be in my 30's to learn, so hopefully you'll be brighter than your old mom and do just go ahead and figure that out at four months and save us both a lot of slammed doors.

Next week, you'll be asking me to borrow the car.  OH, TOO BAD.  I HAVE A MINI VAN.  Sucks to be you.  No one wants that.  I am no dummy, sister. I  will drive the uncoolest car I can possibly muster until you are 20 so you will never request to drive it.  BEEN THERE DONE THAT.  Hellooo, Ford Escort.  Oh, they don't make you anymore? I'll find one from the 80's.  Surely my daughter won't want to borrow it and ride down dirt roads with warm bottles of Boone's Farm in that.  Not that I know anything about that.

Lily, you are going to be a challenge.  You're a super-good girl now, and all smiles and gurgles and fantastic baby sounds.  But I can tell that you possess a certain spunk that your brother does not.  He is all sweetness and light and snuggles and FEELINGS.  You tend more toward the "HEY GIRL, LET'S ROLL" sort of programming, and while I respect that (I have NO IDEA where you got it), it terrifies me.

Roll on, sister.  Just do it wearing a seatbelt, helmet, and any other protective gear they offer.

You're hilarious and bubbly and everything I ever hoped a daughter would be, even when I didn't think I'd get to have a daughter.  Thank you SO MUCH for screwing up last summer.  You are worth every minute of my disastrous swimsuit season.

All my hugs and kisses,