Dear Kyle,
The months are zipping by at warp speed. Just when I finish writing you one letter, it's time to write another. Yet, there's still so much to say, so many ways in which you're different than you were last month, last week, last night.
This was the month of the Very Scary Incident that happened to you and me, well, to you, but I was there watching in horror, and I'm the only one who will remember, so to us. Because of this Incident, you have been placed on a somewhat-strict all-baby-food diet until your first birthday, and I've already made a mental note to plan that first-year appointment before that first-year party, so you can partake in the ridiculous tradition of being presented with a sugary treat you haven't a clue what to do with, but will shove in your mouth like you shove everything else -- my phone, the remote, Molly.
This was also the month a very Epic Cold and Cough descended upon our family. Not swine flu, although I had us all tested for that more than once -- your mother responds to the news just as CNN hopes all Americans would respond to it, with deep and ridiculous paranoia -- but just your average cold with a side of sinus infection for me, ear infection for you and THE WORLD IS ENDING for your father, who handles being sick the way Dick Cheney handles a gun: very, very poorly. In fact, the only member of our clan who handled the sickness in stride was you. You were the only one who continued to sleep just fine, eat just fine, smile just fine, play just fine, look adorable just fine. While we moaned and complained and did half-ass jobs of keeping things afloat, you rolled with it all, a snotty, coughing mess, but just fine.
You're already the coolest one of us, and I don't think that would stun a single person who knows you.
You began army crawling/belly scooting this month -- although more than one person pointed out that what you do is absolutely not crawling, hate to break the news to you ROSY-EYED MOTHER, although I say if you're MOBILE and getting into your DIAPER BAG and FLINGING those diapers across the room, crawling is a fine label. It's not that I wanted you to crawl at barely seven-months old. I very much liked being able to leave you anywhere and know that the worst that would happen was a minor meltdown or a tongue bath courtesy of Molly. Now, I have to be aware and attentive and, my god, I can hardly believe this job doesn't come with some type of compensation. Obama, add that to the list.
You also sit up and stand with our very-needed assistance these days. Or with the cocktail ottoman's assistance, whichever is most handy. You have started drinking out of a sippy cup. You prefer corn over squash and bananas over apples. You love when I clap! Oh, man, you can be having one of those meltdowns, the kind where you singe my eyebrows with the decibels you reach, and all I have to do is clap merrily and you're all, HA! HAAAAA! I LOVE LIFE! DO IT AGAIN! You say da-da-da-da-da-da over and over, hours on end, but you direct it at no one, and you are definitely not SAYING da-da to your actual da-da, but HOO-BOY does your da-da sure enjoy thinking you are. If you say it on your changing table, DIRECTING IT AT THE WALL, he'll come running in the room. "He's calling me! What's up buddy, what do you need?" When he calls while I'm home with you and hears you in the background, he'll say, "Aw, he knows it's me!" And he sure likes to think you say da-da because you prefer him, which is why I have kicked him so much this month, Kyle. Sorry about all that domestic abuse we've already exposed you to.
What's more, this is the month we found a new day care and a new pediatrician and THANK SWEET JESUS, we like both. You probably thought we were just the most indecisive bunch of crazies you've ever met with the way we've schlepped you to a new facility and new doctor every couple of months. It really does take a village to raise a child, and we just wanted our village to consist of awesome, cool people who didn't routinely suck or make your ears bleed.
You do this thing, and just like that adorable little sound you used to make after you sneezed, I imagine this will change as you grow, so I really want to remember this thing you do. Whenever you're tired, you open and close your hands on whatever surface you can find: my arm, my leg, the couch, Mr. Pup. I think it's the repetitive motion that soothes you, and while one hand is doing that, the other is playing with your ear. This is what you do, every day and night, when you're ready for a nap or bed. I'm so glad you can sooth yourself, although I really can't take credit for your ability to do so, it happened so randomly and haphazardly, but when I watch you start to get sleepy and start stretching that hand of yours out and in, out and in, I know my favorite time of day is about to start. Not the going-to-sleep part, although that's nice, too, I won't lie, but the sleepy-baby part. As most parents can attest, the sleepy baby brings on the cuddly baby and that's the very Best Baby of All. You curl into me as I carry you to your room and that walk, with you gripping me tighter then you ever do during the day when you're all WOUND UP! and GOING GOING GOING! and LET ME REACH FOR THIS AND THAT AND GIMME GIMME GIMME!, that walk is why I became a mother. Every day I'm reminded again and again.
The other day, your day care teachers wrote a note on your send-home sheet that said you seemed hungry after your bottle. You cried when they took it away and you just wanted to suck on the empty bottle and shake it around when they gave it back to you, and I laughed and said, "Oh, no. He just likes to play with it! He's not still hungry. It's just this thing he does." For a very long time when people would ask me questions about you I'd look at them like, "Huh, yeah, no fucking clue the answer to that, sorry." Babies are just such hard nuts to crack! And what's really annoying is they keep changing on you and just when you think you have this ONE THING figured out BAM POW they totally school you. It's so humbling and aggravating and when people would ask, "Oh is that his hungry cry?" Or, "Is he just gassy or fussy?" Or "Why on earth does he do THAT?" I'd look them square in the face and say, "YOUR GUESS IS AS GOOD AS MINE, SO HERE, TAKE A STAB AT IT." You're not born with all the knowledge one baby requires and that's hard on a new mom. I don't know what he wants! I don't know what to do! MY GOD, SIX-WEEK OLD, USE YOUR WORDS! And, then, somehow, someway, we get to know these babies of ours. We're able to start answering the questions and filling in the blanks for confused strangers and we're able to laugh off the quirks other people don't get with a simple, "Oh, that's just something he does." And we're not guessing as much any more because we get it, we know, we're the mamas.
Yes, now I know you well, and more than anything else I ever want you to know, there's this: I absolutely, unconditionally love who you are.
I love you, Buds.
Your Mama