Dear Noah,
You’ve reached the magic age according to your doctor and many of Mommy’s friends with kids. Everyone swears you will become a saint starting this month. A sleeping, happy, gasless little angel.
….
Well, I’ve never wanted a son who fits into a mold, anyway. You’re your own baby, and I appreciate that. This month you’ve decided to do a lot of things your own way, like sleeping until 1am, then deciding that’s enough sleep for one night. You’re a busy man, with things to do and places to be! You’ve also decided that schedules are not for you. Lord knows I tried to make you love them so you could be like Mommy, but you’ve already rebelled against them. You’ll eat when you want to eat, thank you very much. And you’ll sleep when you feel like it. And if your Daddy or I try to manipulate you to do things our way, you’ll remind us who the boss is around here. Your Daddy actually mentioned that it might be easier on all of us if we either A) alter OUR schedule so that we sleep all day and stay awake all night (eating as much as we want starting around midnight), or B) move to Japan. I laughed at his joke at first, but after a month of no sleep I am beginning to think he has a point. Japan is cool. At least in the pictures, the people all look cool.
This month has been very important. Your Aunt Ellen has been staying with us, which means you are getting more and more spoiled. And because you make cuter and happier sounds every day, we are convinced that you are about to explode with giggles any day now. We’ve been trying to help get that party started, and one day while we were tickling you or singing to you or making faces for you or something, as is our custom, you gave us a little “heh, heh, heh” chuckle. Sadly, you haven’t done it since then, because your Aunt Ellen and I erupted in such screams of elation that we scared the holy living shit out of you, and I guess you decided never to do anything like that ever again for fear of us jumping on top of your head.
In between defending your life with every semi-laugh that escapes your lips, you’re figuring out how your hands work. When you nurse now, you play with my shirt or my hair, or you hit yourself in the face repeatedly. I’m not sure what that’s about, but you don’t seem to be in any kind of pain, and if I pull your hand away you just start doing it again, so I guess I’ll chalk it up to some weird developmental phase. Also, when we lay you down on your play mat now, you know how to touch the hanging toys. You punch the life out of the elephant with one hand, and you grab onto the octopus with the other hand. (And of course, you talk to them. I try not to eavesdrop because I know I should respect your private conversations, but your words and gurgly sounds are so darn cute I can’t help myself.)
Your favorite place in all the world is still the bath, and your favorite state of being is still Nude. You still holler when we put you in your car seat, the Baby Bjorn, your stroller… really anything where you have to be strapped down. You’re not about that. You like to be free, on your back, preferably naked, waving your arms and kicking your legs. You still need to be swaddled to fall asleep, but you are officially Houdini and you can wrestle your little arms out of the tightest burrito blanket we can wrap. Then you start crying because you don’t know what to do or how to fall asleep without your arms tucked in. This happens oh, you know, ALL NIGHT LONG. Man, I am excited for when you know what to do with those hands of yours that just keep zooming past your face at warp speed and waking you up. OH THE SLEEP THAT WILL BE HAD.
You’re so huge now I can’t believe it. Someone asked me if you were seven months old the other day. SEVEN MONTHS! That’s how big you are, Bubbs! You’ve outgrown all your three-month clothes, and you’re working on being too big for your six-month clothes now, too. Your Daddy looked at you nursing this morning and couldn’t believe how far off my lap your legs hang, and when your Aunt Ellen and I looked back at your newborn pictures a few days ago I am not ashamed to admit that I shed a tear (or two, or five. Don’t judge Mommy… you’ll learn that I’m very emotional and you must accept me for who I am, ok?).
But my favorite moments as your Mommy are on the mornings when your Daddy and I lay you between us and the three of us cuddle up together, with you waving your hands around and talking to us and us dropping in and out of sleep. You’re the best part of waking up, because your little face smiles at me no matter what time it is that you’ve deemed wake-up-time.
The other day I went to see a movie with your Grammy and your Aunt Ellen. I was ok during the movie, confident your Daddy was taking good care of you, but missing you all the same. But then I got out of the movie and called to see how you were doing, and your Daddy told me you hadn’t eaten any of the bottle I left for you and you were being pretty fussy. I can’t explain how it felt, knowing that you needed me and not being able to be right by your side. From that moment until I picked you up and held you again, I had a very hard time breathing, Bubba. I even considered getting a paper bag to hyperventilate into. The truth is I can’t stand being away from you, and even though your Pappy tells me I have to get over it, I am not sure I ever will. I think for the rest of your life, whenever we’re not together, I will feel your absence and your Daddy will have to remind me how to breathe deeply and slowly until I can see you again.
Love,
Mommy
p.s. Please start sleeping. Please. Please.
