Dear Kyle,
Well, we celebrated you turning four months old the typical way you celebrate things. We bought a house. I know, your parents are crazy! Embarking on one of the most stressful things you can do in life right after wrapping up another of the most stressful things you can do in life (that would be having you, my beautiful boy). That's just how we roll, though. Your father and I choose to fill our plates to overflowing and then bitch about how stressed we are. We're not going to drive you crazy at all when you're an angsty teenager!
Four months, though. My god. Your dad and I look at one another often and wonder aloud how it's possible. How have four months gone by since the day they handed you to me in the delivery room. How have we also not permanently damaged you in these four months? You seem just fine and, well, I think that's because of your parents' dumb luck and nothing else. Someone asked me the other day what a particular cry of yours meant, and I looked them dead in the eye and said, "I have absolutely no idea." And that was the truth. We're still trying to figure you out, we still don't know what the hell we're doing most days. We try to roll with the punches and remain flexible, but most days we just try to get through with minimal tears and some laughs.
This month was also the month of your first road trip, and I didn't talk about it much on this site because who likes a bragger but, OH MY LORD, you were amazing. I think your father and I are starting to realize how lucky we are to have you. You are just so much easier than I stupidly believed you were going to be when you were screaming your head off at four weeks of age. You get cooler every day, and although, sure, we've had to hurry out of restaurants because you were totally over watching us enjoy a meal, and you're still not sleeping through the night (um, when are you going to start, just curious?), there aren't many days I don't enjoy being with you. Most days are good. Most days are fun. Most days I pinch myself, and even though I wasn't sure I'd ever be able to say this back when you were a little squishy newborn, I really, really, really enjoy motherhood.
This month you've begun to really notice things, reach for them, pull them slowly to you. You have had a little toy hanging off your car seat handle since the day you were born -- since before then, even -- but this month you saw Stanley for the first time. Now when I put you in the car seat, you search for him and get giddy with excitement each time your eyes rest on him. Your eyes light up and you look as if you're thinking, "You again! How the heck are you!?"
You have begun to talk, and more often than not, you wake us up each morning not by howling like you used to but by jabbering to your mobile, to the elephants on your bumper, to Mr. Pup who lives in your crib with you. You talk and talk and talk and then you make yourself laugh and then you talk some more, and it would be impossible to convince me those aren't the most beautiful sounds on earth.
We also left you over night twice this past month, once to celebrate our two-year anniversary and another time just last night, to celebrate having family willing to watch you. A lot of people look at me strangely when I say I don't mind leaving you, but it's true. I miss you like crazy, you should know, and I think of you every 15 seconds or so, but I want you to know that there is no relationship more important to me in life than the one I have with your father. And not only because he's funny -- although he is -- or because I've now purchased property with him and we really owe it to Wells Fargo to make this marriage work but because more than the home we just bought you or the college education we'll do our best to cover the cost of for you, the gift of a happy home and happy, in-love parents is the very best gift I can think to give you. Sometimes, to keep our home happy, we have to leave it and that has nothing to do with you and everything to do with room service and a full night's sleep.
We also think it's important that you have a relationship with your grandparents, apart from just a night of babysitting every now and then. These are the people you'll turn to when your father and I say you can't pierce your ears or your lip or other body parts I WILL NOT LET YOU POKE HOLES IN WHILE YOU ARE YOUNG AND STUPID, SO HELP ME. These are the people who will support you and encourage you and will never get worn down or frustrated or snappy with you like we inevitably will. They will love you in simpler ways than we can -- that's just the joy of grandparents -- and we think it's ever-so-important that you bond with them.
In many ways, I am not the kind of mother I thought I'd be, and being OK leaving you in the capable hands of others is one way. I also don't worry about you getting hurt or getting sick as much as I thought. Your nose is perpetually running (thanks mega-expensive day care!) and this past month we realized your neck was developing a little funny, a slight condition with a very long, hard-to-spell name I'm too lazy to Google, and I didn't really worry much about it at all -- we were already doing the doctor-sanctioned stretches and exercises with you -- but someone looked at me with worry and fear in their eyes one day and said, "You know, he's going to need physical therapy." And, yeah, maybe. I've accepted the possibility of you needing therapy in many forms, but even if you HAD needed physical therapy or WILL need physical therapy, isn't that OK? It seems better to me than, say, you becoming a Republican one day. (Now THAT I fear. Kidding! Although, no, not really at all.) Oh, Ky. If I had a nickel for every time someone looked at me with fear in their eyes because of the decisions I make for you, I wouldn't be so damn eager for that first-time home buyer's tax credit to reach my broke little hands. And it doesn't really bother me as much as I thought. Everyone else's opinions don't affect a single thing I decide for you. I trust my choices for you, and that's a shock, too, that I am confident in my ability to be your mother in a way no one else is able. Your neck is great now, as I knew it would be, and it's so damn fun watching you look around the world with big eyes and curiosity. Everything is a discovery for you, and I just never thought I would enjoy watching a little human discover the coolness of his own hand. And it's not just that I enjoy watching you swivel your head to take in everything you can; it's that I feel honored to bear witness to you. I am stunned that I get to watch you grow and that one day I'll be the person you try to bargain with for the car keys.
The other day as I dropped you off at school -- what we call day care because we pay enough to call it whatever the hell we want to -- you lit up with joy when you saw your favorite teacher. You lit up in a way you haven't upon seeing me yet. I thought I'd be jealous or sad or torn up a little that you could be so happy to see someone other than the woman who gave up champagne for a solid year to ensure you were born with just the right number of fingers and toes, but I wasn't. After I handed you to her, I walked to my car happy and at peace. There is nothing so wonderful, so beautiful, so amazing in this world than seeing your child happy, and I don't really care what on earth causes that happiness. If it's me, fantastic. If it's motorcycle riding, I won't stand in your way. If it's diving off cliffs with a parachute attached to you, pass me the vodka, but go for it. If it's someone other than me, great. Your happiness is more important to me than anything else in life, and there is nothing I do without it in mind.
I thought I loved unconditionally before, I thought I had it down. I mean, I love your father despite what he fills our DVR up with, but having you has left all that love in the dust, so to speak. Loving you, Kyle, is simply the thing I am best at. You can add this to the list of parenting cliches that have proven to be true: I don't just love you, but I love who you have made me to be.
Happy four months, buddy!
Love,
Your Mama