Month Three

Dear RR,

Here at month three, you are mere days away from the anniversary of your conception and implantation.  Soon, you will have been with us in some form for a whole year.  We’ve really quite enjoyed your company (aside from making me nauseous for four months straight) the entire time.  We hope you feel the same way.

RR, you are quite the morning person.  Every morning, we unswaddle you like we’re opening a present.  Your arms and legs stretch out, and when you put your arms above your head, you make your fists into ball and move them like you’re revving a motorcycle engine.  Then come the parade of smiles.  Seriously, you could take up to ten minutes each morning lounging about, smiling and cooing at us.  However beautiful and charming this is now, I imagine some of the shine will wear off come kindergarten, when there are buses to catch.

Some mornings, you hop in the shower with your mom after breakfast.  You love being in the shower, much more than you ever loved being in a bathtub.  And we thought you LOVED the bathtub.  Your mother holds your slippery naked self while I suds up the washcloth and scrub you down, which includes the top of your bald head and the back of your baby mullet.  And really, is there anything better than a naked baby butt?  No, the answer is no.  You’re also very good at practicing holding your breath under water during your final rinse.  Water babies here we come!

Most notably, the start of September welcomed a new routine for all of us – your mother and I going back to work, and your going to school.  I think every day your mother and I are so thankful that daycare worked out the way that it did.  I’m sure Soon Cram Daycare would have fed and changed you, but that might have been the extent of their actual care.  Your school now is overwhelmingly wonderful.  You’ve quickly fallen in love with Miss L., whom you greet every morning with a huge shy grin.  She writes us notes at the end of each day, telling us all about the happenings of your day – your trip outside in the pack, your tummy time, your naps in the swing, and your absolute love of baby yoga.  As your mother, it gives me nothing but absolute pride to see things like, “RR is very happy and laid back.” written on your chart.  Not like they would write, “RR is an absolute terror.” but you know what I mean.  Sometimes, we come to pick you up and you’re wearing a long-sleeve white onesie, which is your back-up clothes for your ever-exciting and dramatic blowouts.  I love paying someone else to take off a poop-soaked outfit.

You still hate to be in the car.  You especially hate stoplights.  You especially hate the stoplights to and from school.

I’m finding that motherhood has tapped into an unknown creative force inside of me, as I’m playing new songs for you every day.  Tunes and chord progressions are coming easier than I’ve ever remembered them, although I’m afraid that I’ve turned into a country singer.  I hardly ever sing to you, as you really seem to enjoy just listening to me strum along, and lately, it seems as if you’ve been able to recognize some songs over others, if I play them often enough.  I did sing to you one of my original ballads the other night, as you nuzzled against your mom and slowly started to snooze.  Way to melt my heart, kid.

You had your first two-hour road/day trip, which was only successful if you considered that we were all alive when we got home.  Not only do you hate the car, you hate eating anywhere else but in the comfort of a quiet cozy low-lit space, which is a far cry from the passenger’s seat of the car in the parking lot of the Sheetz.  After you’re done hating your meal environment, you commence hating even more being put back in your car seat.  The only payoff was seeing you meet my bandmates in your AC/DC onesie, and then falling a bit in love with a certain blue-eyed curly-haired one year old we know.  Don’t worry – we won’t marry you off  quite yet.

People ask me all the time, “How is the baby?”  And my main answer is “She’s great!  She’s really a good kid.”  And hey, I’m not even lying!  You make me want to have five more kids and just keep you an only child all at once.  If I could guarantee five more of you’s I would do it again in a heartbeat; if the odds are that one might turn out rotten, then I don’t want to push my luck.  Call me selfish.

This month, we also had the joy of taking you to the doctor for your first non check-up related visit, if only to find out the difference between pink eye and a clogged tear duct.  The only reason we actually TOOK you to the doctor was because we were afraid school would turn you and your slimy, goopy, yellowish-oozing eyes away and we’d be forced to spend the whole day with you.  Kidding.  Sort of.  Anyhow, we received our infant eye issue education, and left with a note on prescription paper that simply read: “RR does  not have pink eye.”

So there you have it.  We’ve managed to keep you relatively happy, healthy, and free of any home-bounding communicable diseases for three whole months.  Where’s our prize?



Posted on September 25, 2010, in letters to rr. Bookmark the permalink. 1 Comment.

  1. Thanks for the update! She sounds as lovely as she is cute! Noah loves his baths, but maybe we’ll try him in the shower. We’re very lucky he likes car rides and eating out.

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