Peek-a-Berry

Love Notes: From the Nostalgia Files

FROM THE NOSTALGIA FILES: Today, I'm sharing a love letter I wrote to my darling Erin back when she was only two months old. And to think today she's exactly one and a half, and keeping me on my toes in a way I never knew possible! Happy 18 months to the best thing that's ever happened to me.

Now, quick... someone toss me the Kleenex.

Dear Erin,

I can't believe it's been two months since your very first cry pierced the adrenaline-filled night air of my hospital room. You took your very first breath under a magnificent moon, hanging low against a black sky, beaming radiantly with what I can only assume was a burning desire to be close to you.

I know how the moon must have felt.

I write this letter to you as you nap, peacefully, in your crib. I have a baby monitor and yet I've checked on you dozens of times to make sure you're still comfortable. Still breathing. Still there. Part of me fears I'll wake up one morning and your existence will have only been a dream. And though we've only known each other for two months, Erin, you have indelibly shaped my life in a way I never knew possible. I'm a different person because of you-- and now that I know you, I never want to live without you. Ever.

As I tiptoe up to the crib, I see you there-- swaddled to high heaven because we both know just how much you drive yourself crazy with those flailing arms. At naptime, those arms are my enemy-- taunting you, provoking you, annoying you into wakefulness, depriving you (and me) of a much needed respite. But I can never stay frustrated for long. For those are the same arms that seem to reach out for me when your Moro Reflex kicks in and you feel like you're falling. They're the arms that have just learned to guide your perfectly tiny hands into your mouth when you're in need of comfort... or something to snack on. And yes, those are the arms that sprout the adorable little fingers I so love to kiss. You know, the same ones that clench me tight when I feed you as if to say: "I hope you're not planning on going anywhere anytime soon..."

As you sleep, I'm flipping through the photos I've taken of you these past eight weeks and I can't help but feel a little sad to see how much you've grown already. How quickly the weeks have passed! But then I look at you, the baby who at one time slept for days without opening her eyes, and for the first time I see a little person: eyes so clear and full of life now that they light up when I peer at them through the crib slats; a once expressionless mouth curling itself into an unquestionable smile when a familiar face pops into view; and yes, dare I say, a little tuft of curly hair on the back of her head that looks and feels just like Mommy's?

You're growing up before my eyes, Erin, and I never want to forget the joy you bring to me right now. A joy I know will surely be overshadowed by the even more amazing things you'll do and be as you get older. I know this is how it should be. But for now, my happiness hinges on the toothless grin that greets me in the mornings, the way you "sing" for me when I catch you in a moment of true focus and awareness, the split second look of fear you give me as I place you in your little whale bath tub... and how quickly it dissipates when you remember: "Oh yeah, I love getting a bath!" I live for your little fingernails that are impossible to cut, your ridiculously long eye lashes and the way you'll sit on my lap now, upright and supporting your own head, your beautiful blue eyes gazing at me as if they could somehow unlock all the world's secrets with a single blink.

For so many months I focused only on the fact that it was up to me to give you life. To nourish you, to keep you safe, to help you grow. Now, two months since the night I first fell in love with you, I'm only beginning to realize it was actually you who gave life to me.

Thank you for that.

All my love forever and ever,

Mommy

To read more by Lindsay, visit her personal blog: http://peekaberry.com

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Don't Poke the Hair

For months (twelve, to be exact) I've been lamenting over the fact that my kid has no hair.

Well not lamenting, so much as having a hearty, year-long chuckle at her expense... in the most loving and motherly way possible, of course.

For the past year I've seen "them" everywhere.
Those adorable little six month olds with full heads of thick, lustrous hair-- bangs down to their chins. Every time I spot one in the grocery store or the pediatrician's office or the mall I can't help but think to myself: "my kid is going to be bald til she's 16."

Which is pretty much reason enough to believe she won't be dating til she's 30.
Perhaps the big man upstairs is actually throwing me a bone, here...

But I have to say (and this isn't just "motherly pride" talking)-- in the months since Erin's first birthday, her locks have undergone one serious growth spurt. I mean, she's no Phil Spector or anything... but her mullet is filling in rather nicely. In fact, for the first time ever-- I actually took a long look at my child from across the room today and thought to myself: "Whoa nelly! Look at that hair!"

Of course, it would also stand to reason that today would be the first day Erin would ever show any interest in her own head whatsoever. And by interest in, I mean obsession with. My kid can no longer go five whole minutes without grabbing, pulling or rubbing her newly acquired peach fuzz. Which means I now actually find myself longing for those carefree days when I didn't have to spend 30 minutes scrubbing the day's lunch menu out of her mane.

Back when Erin was an infant, it seemed all her growing was measured in inches. She'd greet me every morning with that same, adorable little smile-- and I'd simply switch out her clothes for larger sizes as she got longer and chubbier. But now that she's a toddler? Absolutely everything about her is changing. Her facial expressions, her personality, her likes and dislikes, the tiny little curls forming at the nape of her neck. All of these subtle (and not so subtle) little signs are pointing directly to the fact that she's no longer a baby. She's becoming a little girl right before my eyes...

I knew it was coming. Really, I did.

I guess I just never expected my daughter to go from looking like Mr. Clean to Albert Einstein... overnight.

The resemblance really is uncanny, isn't it?

Though I'm desperately trying to get her to re-think the moustache. 

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Minding Your P's and Q's

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