Dear Son A,
Happy day after your half birthday! As you will come to understand, in this household we celebrate the half birthday, sometimes with more fondness than with the actual birthday because a) it gives us something to look forward to instead of having to wait a *whole* *year* to be happy that you were born and 2) I’m me.
So what did we do to celebrate the fact that on this day six months ago I regained my ability to hold more than a tea cup full of fluids in my bladder? Not a whole lot to be honest: sorry to let you down. But see, my mind is not functioning at full capacity so much at the moment, what with the holidays ever looming, the preschooler ever climbing, and the babe never sleeping. What was that last bit? Oh, that’s right: you. Lack of sleeping. Makin’ the mama a little crazy in the head. And if you think you need to help me be any more quirky than I already am, thanks for the help, son, but we’re all stocked up on loony around here.

I’m trying to think back over the past month, but it’s a bit hazy, kinda like trying to remember college. Which, funny enough, your father and I had our first final together ten years ago this week. Except neither one of us remembers the other being in class with the other one because, well, we weren’t in class all that much. Which, again, was funny because the class was Ethics. Skipping. Ethics. Doesn’t seem quiet kosher, eh?
So, let’s see: what did we do this past month?
You learned how to make rolls with Gran for Thanksgiving. These are special rolls. These are the rolls we have at all family celebrations because they are So Good. So good that your uncle tries to live off of them. So good that he will take an entire roll and shove it in his mouth and make a happy noise, much like you do when your pacifier is inserted. I think if these rolls were distributed worldwide we would have peace on earth and good will towards men, and even if they had something cranky to say, they couldn’t: because their mouths would be full.

You’ve gained the love for the Jumperoo. This contraption, large and obnoxious as it is, is a LifeSaver. Your brother bounced and bounced and bounced in it. We pulled it out when his legs were too short and we had to put photo albums underneath so he could reach and boingyboingyboingy to his heart’s content. Either your legs are longer, or we waited a while, but you too have an appreciation for all things bouncy. You love it so much that you try to incorporate jumping into all of your activities: sitting on people’s laps, sitting in your high chair waiting to spit food at us, nursing. Yes, nursing. Though I may look like a large plastic contraption with bells and whistles and shiny plastic figures, I’m not. And my jubblies have not been approved by the Fisher Price folks to have the elasticity to hold up to the constant boingyboingyboingy. Please, refer to your owner’s manual: mama’s jubblies don’t work that way.

You’ve gained the reputation of being The Happiest Baby! Everywhere we go, folks always comment on your natural sunshine:
“Look at that smile!”

“Oh, he’s just so sweet!”

“What a happy boy!”

Of course, they don’t see the other side. The side that comes out at night. To quote a well-referenced poem (at least in my Home of Origin):
There was a little girl
who had a little curl
right in the middle of her forehead
and when she was good
she was very good indeed
but when she was bad she was horrid.

What’s that on your forehead? . . . . If your Daytime Self could teach your Nighttime Self some matters regarding well-being, contentedness, pleasantness, and the general “This is the way you should act so that you are not shipped in a box to Abu Dhabi”, that’d be great.
You experienced your first snow. Which really was nothing: just a bit of wandering fluff that didn’t stick. But still: it wasn’t rain - it was pretty white flakes that fell from the sky. Which meant you had to come on your first “Hey: it’s snowing! We must walk in the pretty whiteness!” walk. I used to do this when I lived in Boise: my roommate and I would walk around our neighborhood, come across a big untouched field, and run in circles because we were 23ish and we could. There certainly was not enough snow to make pretty designs in, but there was enough that we felt the need to get hot donuts and big peanut butter cookies.

And now you’re getting to experience your first Christmas. Not that you really care at this point. The lights on the tree are nice. The constant shuffling of the 25+ Christmas cds in the stereo is enjoyable. You mostly enjoy that folks at the store are wearing antlers and that your brother seems to be on a constant sugar-high.

So, if I could put a wishlist in for Christmas from you I would ask:
- that I could get some time to be unconscious for a few sleep cycles: cause waking me up in the middle? Every night? It hurts, my friend: don’t be a hurter.
- that you could continue to eat solids like you did last night, chowing down on rice cereal and applesauce like it’s old school. Food is your friend.
- that you could reread that Mama Users Manual regarding jumping and eating.
- that you could keep getting cuter and smilier and bringing that sunshine and delight you seem to have bursting forth from your sweet darling soul into the world: we need it.

Love, Ma
Little A Adventures, Mama Musings | 4 Comments »