Dear Colin... (5 years old)

Dear Colin:

You have been in my life now for five years (and 9 months + 5 days), but it's a strange feeling that I have when reflecting back on my time with you. I feel like time is flying at the same time that I can't really remember what my life was like before you were born.

I knew the day I found out about you that I had sentenced myself to a lifetime of worry, but it's starting to get worse now that your dad and I are evaluating kindergarten options for you. Kindergarten. Just thinking that word gives me anxiety. Talking about it with you doesn't help, as you are worried about going to a new school, which isn't a surprise since you have been going to the same daycare since you were 3 months old. You're worried about the "big kids" and that you won't have any friends there (despite the many times I've told you that it's a new school for everyone who "won't have friends either").

I hate that you are worried about that because I see shadows of my own anxiety disorder in you, and pray that for you it's just a fleeting, momentary concern. Leave the uneasiness to your mom, OK? Because I know you'll be fine. You'll be more than fine. You make friend so easily and are "very popular" according to your kindergarten prep teacher.

She also said you were smart. But we knew that. You never let an unfamiliar word go by without asking what it means and are eager to keep learning to read, though you get frustrated at home when reading with me. It's probably because my patience with this task is barely even registering when you guess at the words. ("Don't guess honey. You can't actually think that a word spelled "g-o" is pronounced "because.") 

Plus, it's times like this where I realize just how screwed up the English language is. Silent "e's"? Blended letters? The words "book" "moon" and "door" all with two "o's" but pronounced totally differently!?  But you usually ask and want to read, and are proud when you read a sentence all by yourself. Plus your handwriting has gotten so much better in just the last few months and I love the phonetic spellings of "lov" and "hows". 

Plus, You Are. Freaking. Hilarious. You absolutely love to make me laugh, and it comes so naturally to you. Whether it's dancing around naked, making silly faces, or, yes, farting (oh the farting - whether it's actually passing gas, making fart noises, or talking about farting - you are all about farting. I actually wrote about it for a mommy blog and it was published on Scary Mommy) you can pretty much entertain yourself and anyone else around you.

And you are such a sweet boy. Whenever I wear a new necklace or shirt, you always notice and tell me that I'm beautiful. You made me the cutest bracelet from pipe cleaners and beads at school with pink and purple before remembering that my favorite color is blue, so the coloring is half and half. When I wore it to work, you were so proud, and it was adorable.

You still ask me to cuddle with you every night and aren't content unless some part of your body is touching mine, whether it's your arm across my leg at the dinner table, your head on my shoulder in bed, or your whole body curled up in the circle of my legs on the couch. Whenever I get a little annoyed at being a mommy jungle gym, I try to remember that this phase won't last forever.

It's something your dad reminds me when you crawl into bed with us. Which is every night. Every. Single. Night. Most nights before even your dad and I get upstairs to bed. You are right there waiting for us at 11 p.m. I have no idea why you sleep between 12:30 and 2 p.m., 9 and 11 p.m., and 12 and 7 a.m., but it is nothing short of a rigid internal clock case study. It's a little snuggly, annoying, cock-blocking certainty.

But it's impossible to stay mad at you. Even when you get bored when we are at a sporting event and ask me to leave 10 trillion times or throw tantrums, which still happen when you don't get your way after you try as hard as you can to negotiate what you perceive as fair, you will always sweetly apologize once you have calmed down. 

After a long day at work and school, we are both just pretty content just sitting quietly under a blanket on the couch while you are watching your iPad and I am reading or playing games on my phone enjoying the silence for once. It doesn't happen often. You sir, are LOUD. But that's OK. Your mom doesn't really have an inside voice either. 

We're both going to be OK. We'll get through this whole kindergarten thing together, like we have always done. Just don't get to college anytime soon baby.

Love,
Mom

Dear Colin... (4 years old)

Dear Colin:

What a year.

You are getting spoiled from the newly discovered soft spot that I hadn't known I had. Add that to the fact that your three older female cousins on your dad's side absolutely adore you and you're still the only grandchild on my family's side and, well, you were going to be spoiled from the moment you were born anyway. Add that to the fact that you're absolutely hilarious and forget about it. You LOVE giving ridiculous answers to questions, and laugh and laugh at my overly shocked reaction:

"Colin, what do you want for dinner?"

"Dog food... [Laughing hysterically] ... and legos [more laughter]... juuuuust kidding!" 

You make up silly songs and your favorite thing to do is sing them while dancing in front of the bathroom mirror. While completely naked. Oh the blackmail videos I have - remember that when you're a teenager.

It's so easy to love you, though. You're the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, and I tell you that all the time. You are an absolute charmer who is nearly impossible to resist when you ask me for something in your sweet little voice coupled with raising your eyebrows up and down. You're cute and you know it, but mostly I'm just exhausted and will give in.

I'm tired because you move. ALL. THE. TIME. You don't have a gait slower than running and there is no surface that you haven't climbed on dozens of times. It's rare, but sometimes I am able to sneak into your bed and gently lie next to you to hold you, which I'm overly compelled to do because it's the only time you're almost still. And I do it only if I beat you to sneaking into our bed which you started to do a few weeks ago and now do it every single night. Your dad and I fondly - and exasperatedly - refer to you as our little "CB" (which is short for a slang term that's not appropriate for a four-year-old. I'll tell you when you're older - and you'll immediately regret asking).

I don't have to wait to tell you a lot of things, though, because you are SO SMART. Your teachers tell me they're regularly amazed at how advanced you are when doing educational exercises, and you love to learn. You actually ask for extra homework to practice writing your letters, you always ask me what a word means if I say one you're not familiar with, and you have been able to spell and write your name for a few months now. 

You absolutely cannot go to bed without asking me a number of burning questions ("Are giraffes taller than houses? Why do grown-ups get to stay up later than little kids? Why do we have a refrigerator AND a freezer?") and have made me aware of things that I hadn't thought of before (why ARE they called "golfers" instead of "golf players" which is in line with the reference to any other professional athlete?). You ask me why I spelled out your name in cute block letters above your bed constantly and I tell you it's because you're special.

And you certainly are special. Whenever you say "I love you, mom" I have to respond with "I love you more." 

And whenever I ask you what I love more than you (and after you're done being silly naming ridiculous things like flowers or dinosaurs), you eventually conclude with the right answer because what do I love more than you?

Nothing.

Love,
Mom

Dear Colin (3 years old)

Dear Colin:

Whoever coined the term "terrible twos" clearly did not yet have a three-year-old. Wow - everything they say about tantrums in year three being worse than year two is right. You're not only physically bigger and stronger (and squirm and kick harder!) but your will is iron-clad. When you get an idea in your head, I have to prepare for a long-drawn-out battle if it's one I choose to fight. 

The latest battle I knew I had to fight was when I told you that you had to wear socks with your shoes earlier this month (oh the horror!). It was chilly outside and it took myself and two of your cousins to put socks and shoes on you and strap you in the car. Without your coat. Because I was already exhausted with trying to put shoes on you, the car was warm, and I thought you'd settle down after we started driving. Thirty minutes later, when we were pulling into the parking lot of the mall, you were still screaming about having to wear socks. I gave up on even attempting to put on your coat. I'll laugh about this one one day. Probably. Four is going to be better, right?

For the usual day-to-day battles, like about how many cartoon episodes you can watch before we leave or how many books we can read before bed, you are a master negotiator. I mean that. You heard it here first, kiddo - you are going to be an attorney when you grow up. A typical conversation goes like this:

"OK Colin, go ahead and pick the book you want to read before bed."
"No, not one book. Two."
"One, Colin."
"NOPE. Two."
"Either one or zero!"
"NOOOOOOOOO! TWO!"
"Colin, come on. Just pick one."
"I'll pick two short ones I promise! Let's compromise, mama!"
"Ugh, fine." 

Yeah, I've taught you about compromise, but you still manage to use it to your advantage. And you're so adorable when we're trying to make a deal with me that I usually just go with your extremely unbalanced settlements. I mean how am I supposed to resist your adorable face?

Just do mama one favor... try and let mama think she won a few times in the near future so I can save some face, OK?

Love you Bunga.

Love,
Mom

Dear Colin... (2 years old)

“Love you Colin,” I said, giving you a squeeze after the giggle fit we had while I was pretending to think that your pajamas ate your hands.

“Ah-loh Mama,” you said in reply, smiling your full-toothed smile.

Laughing, I gave you another huge hug, as it was the first time you tried to say “I love you” back to me.

You are amazing Colin.

You repeat everything I say and even when you’re preoccupied with one of the learning apps I downloaded for you on my phone, you follow me everywhere around the house.

You went from only being able to count to 2 to being able to count to 4 then all of a sudden to 8. And yesterday, you counted to 10 for the first time (except you skipped number 2!). And when I asked you how old you were going to be next month on your birthday, you said “One!”

“No, Colin, you’re going to be two!” I said, hardly believing my baby was going to be 2 years old.

“No, one!” you insisted.

As much as I’d like to believe that you aren’t going to be 2, you are growing and you are learning so much from day to day. Slow it down, though, will ya?

Love,
Mom

We all scream for...

My 18-month-old, Colin, LOVES to “help” me in the kitchen, regardless of whether I’m cooking, sweeping, or loading the dishwasher (I’m well aware that I should appreciate this while it lasts!).

 So making our own ice cream was a no-brainer—the kid also loves to eat! His favorite part was shaking the bag of ice and salt… that is until it came time to taste our special treat. 

After tipping the bowl up to his face to make sure he was able to get every last drop, he gave me the pouty face that makes his mama melt and then cave in and give him seconds!

Last Day as a Baby

“What are you doing? He’s asleep!” your daddy said after poking his head in your darkened nursery and seeing me cradling you under a blanket in the rocking chair.

“I’m enjoying this cuddling because this is his last day as a baby!” I said, nearly choking on my emotion, as your dad just laughed at me and left us alone.

You graduated from the Infant Room at daycare on Friday and today there is a ceremony in the morning where they take the infant graduates to the big boy Toddler Room on the other side of the building. I told myself I wouldn’t cry, but when I dropped you off in the Infant Room this morning for the last time, and your caregiver for the past year, Fran, gave me a big hug, I couldn't stop my eyes from welling up.

My baby is growing up.

You’re 16 months old now, and are definitely a toddler. You are constantly on the move – with the goal most of the time being to climb one of the two sets of staircases. One has a baby gate up to deter you and the other has two cardboard boxes blocking it off, which you have somehow figured out how to unblock on several occasions and have given me that sly little grin from six steps up – you know, the one that says “I know I’m not supposed to be doing this, but HERE I AM DOING IT ANYWAY!” You also LOVE it when people chase you – I can get you to laugh so hard and so loudly if I just crouch down, tell you “I’m gonna get you,” and start chasing you around the island in the kitchen or around the armchair in the living room. You don’t run yet but you can walk rather briskly during this game!

I never have to worry about where you are because you talk up a storm. You say “mama” “dada” and “buh-bye” like a champ, though when you get excited, you let out a stream of “DADA-DADA-DADA-DADAs!) which I hear all the time when I pick you up after work, which cracks up your caregivers because I’m the one who usually picks you up – your MAMA. And you say and wave “buh-bye” to everyone all the time, even if they’re not leaving, or even if they’re on the phone and can’t see you waving.

You’re always talking to yourself when you’re playing, or look up at me often to tell me something. I can’t help but feel bad sometimes that I have no idea what you’re saying unless you’re pointing out the dog (“daw!”), your books (“buh!”) asking for some sort of liquid (all of which you refer to as ‘juice’ - “jis”), or requesting a banana for breakfast (“baba”).

It’s remarkable to me that you’re just 16 months old, and yet you can understand me just fine. I asked you to give a piece of paper to your dad the other day and you proudly walked over and gave it to him then came back to me and grabbed another piece and did it again (and again and again until he had a pile of junk mail by his side). You get your shoes when I ask you to and respond with emphatic nodding every time I ask you if you want some juice, breakfast, lunch, snack, or dinner.

Yes, one of your favorite activities is eating. You want to eat constantly. You want to eat when you’re done eating. It’s remarkable that your tiny tummy can hold all that food – although it does get remarkably distended when mealtime is over! But if I have to take a minute to prepare food, warm up food (heaven forbid I have to put something in the microwave and out of your sight!), or let warmed food cool down, I know that I will be on the receiving end of nonstop crying, wailing, and flailing around in your highchair until the food is on your tray. You need to work on your patience, which I’m constantly reminding you to do (though not really expecting that it will happen!).

When you were really little I taught you sign language for two actions – “more” and “all done”. (Full disclosure that I taught you “more” incorrectly in that I though it was when you essentially point at your palm. But it still serves the same purpose.)  I thought this would be a good way for you to tell me when you wanted more of something and when you were full. Unfortunately, all it does is give you a way to tell me when you really like something, because you emphatically point at your palm over and over again – like when I gave you vanilla ice cream for the first time last night. You only sign “all done” when I tell you that you’re all done and I take the food away.

Your other favorite things are all things paper-related. We’re talking toilet paper (on or off the toilet-paper holder, or as I call it, the wall-mounted entertainment system), paper towels, tissues, and napkins. You LOVE these things and carry them around the house all the time like a safety blanket. I have no idea why you love them so much; only that you scream if I have to take them from you to put you in the bathtub for example. I even found a wad of toilet paper in your toy box last night – put there by you because that’s where your “toys” go!

It’s also amazing to me how much you are learning on a daily basis and how easily you pick up new skills. We were all watching Michigan play in the NCAA tournament the other day, and your daddy did the motion for the referee signal “and one!” where a player gets fouled while they’re making a basket and get an additional free throw. You smiled and imitated him and now do the signal every time one of us says “Colin – AND ONE!”

You also love being a big boy, which is why it should be easier for me that you’re growing up. You love “helping” in the kitchen and will whine at my feet in front of the stove because you want to be the one stirring the stir-fry or flipping the burgers. I started bringing the stepstool into the kitchen so you can climb up and see what I’m doing, and all you want to do is be on that top step because you grin so proudly when I tell you that you’re “so big! (and protest so loudly if I pick you up and set you down!).

And you love your mama and your dada. You give kisses freely, hugs even more often, and there are times where you’ll just look up at me and pause before giving me your full 12-tooth smile.

You may be growing up, but I will still call you my baby mostly because you’ll always be my baby.

Love,

Mama

Not ready to let go of that bond

Today is the second day that I've hauled my breast pump downtown to work, only to pick it up and take it home unused. I should be thrilled. I've always said that "I hate pumping as much as I love breastfeeding." I hate that depressed feeling that immediately washes over me as the machine grabs my nipples and simultaneously yanks on them every half a second for 20 minutes. I hate having to interrupt my work day twice to go to my "pumping room" that someone else always seemed to be using to make a personal phone call. And I hate washing all those pump parts every day only to have to wash them again the following day. And the day after that.

I really hate pumping, but not as much as I hate the thought of not breastfeeding anymore. That's the thought I just can't quite get a handle on.

So far, all the milestones I've been through with Colin have been exciting. Everything I've witnessed has been a fun adventure, from watching him roll over for the first time to babbling more and more sounds to crawling and now walking. Every time I look at him now, I can't help but see a little boy, and not a baby.

I think I may be holding on to breastfeeding because it's the only thing that makes me feel like I still have a baby. Letting go of that means letting go of his infancy.

And that's not something I'm ready to do. I'm not ready to let go of my baby.

I know he's not going anywhere. He's just growing up. But I don't even have enough time to enjoy one phase before he's off on the next. I couldn't enjoy him falling asleep in my arms for long enough because he started becoming more interested in looking around rather than closing his eyes. I didn't have enough time to watch his butt wiggle from side to side as he crawled because he started to walk. And I don't feel like we've had enough time to bond before he falls asleep at night in the way that only I can bond with him. Just me. Just his mom.

Holding on to this baby stage is all the more important because he may be my only child, as Brent hasn't let go of his "one and done" mantra, no matter what I say or how important it is that I tell him that I want another one. It's something that's too important to me to let go, yet too emotional for me to have a rational conversation around, which frustrates Brent to the point where whenever the subject comes up, it goes nowhere.

So for now, I'm going to keep the morning breastfeeding before I go to work and the evening one before Colin goes to bed. I enjoy it, and I know Colin does too. Maybe it's my way of trying to slow down time. Since history has shown Colin isn't doing that, someone has to try.

Dear Colin... One Minute Into One Year

Dear Colin:

This is a tough one to write. It's not even your actual birthday yet and I've already teared up twice today on the eve of your special day.

The first time was after rolling around on the floor with you doing everything I could think of to keep hearing those loud shrieking giggles of yours - which usually means tickling you on the side of your neck or under your arms or tossing you up in the air.

You settled down a little on my lap after getting preoccupied with a talking toy car and I happened to glance at the clock. It was 4 p.m. on November 29, which is when I felt my first contraction exactly one year ago. So I looked down at you playing with your car and even though we were at your Baba and Mimi Meller's house full of people, I felt like you and I were the only two there as I told you the very abridged story of your birth:

"Exactly one year ago today, I felt something that I now know was you telling me it was time for you to come out. I then started timing those contractions with an app on the phone that you just NEED TO HAVE whenever you see it in my hand. By the time Jersey Shore was over at 11:30, you were really telling me it was time for us to leave. So your daddy and I grabbed our stuff and just before we walked out the garage door, your daddy and I kissed and said the next time we'd be in this house, we'd be here with our baby. That's you.

So then we went to the hospital and your mommy was in SO much pain. But your daddy was fantastic helping mommy through it and your Baba and Mimi Meller, Grandma Ray, and Aunt Brittany met us at the hospital because they just couldn't wait to meet you. 

So at 10:15, the doctor said you were ready to come out. I pushed and pushed for almost two hours because apparently he was wrong about you wanting to come out! But then, at 12:02 p.m., I saw you for the first time. I don't even remember if you cried. What I do remember, though, was awe that the tiny little baby that the doctor was holding was mine.

Before I could hold you, the doctors had to take you to the warmed table in the corner of the room to make sure you were OK. And even though the doctor said you couldn't see more than a few inches in front of your face and they had you facing the corner of the room, you somehow twisted your head around and stared straight at me the ENTIRE time they were measuring and working on you like you knew I was your mom and you belonged across the room with me. And the only moment I wasn't looking right back at you was when your daddy squeezed my hand and I turned my head so I could kiss him and tell him that you were our baby. That you, Colin Allen Meller, were our sweet little boy.

And then the nurse placed you right on my chest and I got to hold you for the first time. I cradled all 7.2 pounds of you in my arms under a warmed blanket and just looked at your adorable face with your just barely there hair and one tiny, tiny fist poking out. It was the best moment of my life. All because of you."

I have been ready to go to bed for awhile now, but when I saw that it was just 15 minutes to midnight central time, I busied myself with playing games on my phone until I heard the clock chime on the hour. Then I walked quietly upstairs to where you were sleeping, stroked your now quite long blond hair, and was happy that I got to be the first to tell you:

"Happy birthday little man."

Love,
Mom

Dear Colin... A Moment Like This

Dear Colin:

We had a moment tonight. It was this brief, yet absolutely perfect moment between mother and son; so powerful that it surprised me how fast the tears came to my eyes.

You were nursing contentedly right before bed, as usual, except tonight every time I glanced down at you, your eyes were wide open and staring straight ahead. You also were unusually still, which usually accompanies the tired blinking you tend to do before nodding off. That’s when I gently pull you up to my shoulder to burp you before lying you down in your crib.

Tonight, though, you never got your usual tired look, even though you were clearly cranky as we were going through your bedtime routine. So when I thought you had nursed enough, I brought you up to my left shoulder and started to pat your back. At this point in the routine, you do one of two things – lay your head on my shoulder when you’re really sleepy, or squirm around until I put you in your crib.

But tonight you did something you’ve never done before. You put one hand on my shoulder to push yourself back to look at me. You then looked at me like you have never seen me almost every single day of your entire life. For a few precious seconds, you were staring at me with such a quiet intensity that I was absolutely paralyzed by your gaze. You then tilted your head to the left and gave this slow, wide grin, without breaking eye contact with me. At that moment, I felt love like I have never felt before. Not even on the day you were born. I didn’t know you then like I know you now. I didn’t know at the time that I had just given birth to something that would bring me joy that I've never known before. It's something that only other parents could understand.

I wished at that moment that I had a camera to capture that look, but it wasn’t until just now that I’m writing about that I realize that I don’t need it. I don’t need a photo to remember that moment because I can never forget that look you gave me.

I could only smile, tear up, and vocalize to you what I hope you will never, ever question:

“I love you more than anything in this world.”

Love,

Mom

Dear Colin... (9 months)

Dear Colin:

I still refer to you as Mr. Crabs, but it’s turned into a term of endearment rather than a descriptor. You, sir, are all smiles. After seeing your two extra-smiley pictures from daycare today, your daddy texted me to tell me that  “no one smiles that much. Not even The Joker.” I replied, “My little boy does.”

Several people from daycare have seen me with you and remarked that you smile all the time. And another person from your daycare recently glanced around to make sure no other parents were in earshot when she told me in hushed tones that she’s been working at the daycare for more than nine years and you are one of the absolute cutest kids she’s been around. I can’t say I disagree.

You’re nine months old today and I am amazed at how fast you pick up new skills. You clap whenever I shout “yay!” and wave to your caregivers at daycare every morning from outside your room. We’re now working on blowing kisses, and you’ve almost got it.

You’ve also almost got crawling, although your chosen modes of transportation are still strictly rolling and army crawling with both arms while pushing off with just your left leg and your belly still stubbornly on the ground. You’re still pretty fast at it when you see something that you really want, which 9 times out of 10 is either any kind of paper or the dog’s water bowl. That is, of course, if there is no food around, even if it’s clearly my food, and not yours.

You eat more than any child your size should probably eat. I actually don’t know how much you can eat because if I didn’t stop giving you food after I felt like you’ve had enough, I’m not sure if you’d stop on your own! I’m not sure an infant should be protesting that they don’t have any more food after a bowl of oatmeal, half a banana, and two highchair tray-fulls of Cheerios and puffs! Whenever I get together with my mom friends one of them always remarks that you’re still eating after all of the other babies have moved on from eating to playing.

And I have you to thank for my mom friends. All of my work friends live in the city, and I had yet to make friends out in the suburbs. But then you came along and I was able to bond with these amazing new moms under the guise of having “play dates” for our kids. None of you ever mind, of course, because you all clearly enjoy putting each others toys in your mouths for the few hours that we get together every month.

You never stop babbling. Most of the time it's a lot of "babas" and "dadas" although I still don't think you know what many words mean. You do know your name, though, and look up and smile whenever you hear me say it.

You're giving me small heart attacks on a regular basis because your main goal in the bathtub now is to pull yourself up to a standing position. The edge of the tub is just too perfect a height for you to not want to grab and pull from a seated position, despite all the colorful toys I surround you with in the tub.

Nursing is much more painful than it used to be because you have had your middle bottom two teeth for a few weeks now, and I just noticed that one more is popping out next to those bottom two as well as your fangs. If those come in fully before your top middle teeth show up, I have to admit I might be a little creeped out - especially since you've been waking up a lot more in the middle of the night - but we'll wait and see about that one.

Although if getting teeth is like anything else when it comes to you, I won't have to wait long. You change daily. I play with you after daycare and before it's time for you to go to sleep and I swear each time you're a little bit more dexterous, a little bit faster at scooting, and a lot more fun.

I love you Mr. Crabs. More every day.

Love,

Mom

Dear Colin... (8 months)

Dear Colin:

I have never heard you laugh like you did one night this week. You’ve just recently started truly laughing at the most random things I do, and I know I can get you to giggle when I say certain words like “boing,” “p.u.,” and “whooph!”

I taught you how to throw a ball in an evening recently, and we sat well past your bedtime tossing it back and forth. Well, I tossed it to you and you would pick it up and throw it every time. But sometimes you let it go too early, and it’d go behind you, or you’d let it go too late, it and it would drop in front of you. Either way, you kept right on going.

I yelled for your daddy to join us, and he kept encouraging you to pick up the ball and throw it with your left hand. His (current) dream for you is to become a left-handed professional baseball pitcher. I can’t really tell whether you’re a righty or a lefty yet because you pick up objects with whatever hand is closest, and eat with both at the same time!

So when I heard you full and outright hysterically belly laughing like I’ve never heard from you before, I just had to see just what was so hilarious. So I peeked into the nursery where you were with your daddy and saw exactly what was so funny. Your daddy had apparently started to undress you for your bath and had gotten as far as taking off your long pants. And what you were doing was throwing the pair of pants at your daddy, and he would throw them right back and grunt like it was a huge effort to throw the pants a few inches away, causing you to laugh like you’ve never laughed with me.

I have to say that I’ve never thought of throwing a pair of pants back and forth in my quest to get you to giggle, so kudos to your daddy for his creativity. He’s not usually a creative guy, so I have to give him props for coming up with something so random that’s apparently the most entertaining thing ever for you.

And now what’s so entertaining to me is that now whenever you throw something, you grunt, imitating your daddy. It’s completely adorable. Just like you.

Love, 

Mom

Dear Colin... (7 months)

Dear Colin:

I cried the entire way to the airport. I was glad it was dark so the cab driver couldn’t see me wiping away my tears as he drove me further and further away from you.

I made him wait for me in our driveway for a brief time because I didn’t want to stop squeezing you and planting kisses on those sweet squishy cheek to put you back in your crib. I knew it’d be the last time I held you for nearly a week, and at the time, it seemed like a week that would last an eternity.

I was heading out on a business trip to Texas for five days – the longest period of time I’ve ever left you. I knew I was leaving you in good hands – we called your Mimi Meller to hang out with you and your daddy while I was gone – but it was still heartbreaking knowing I wouldn’t have you in my arms for nearly a week.

I cried one more time during that business trip – and that was when your daddy texted me that your Mimi Meller had told him that she had heard your first word. Dada. I was heartbroken that I wasn't there to hear it. I tried to console myself by telling myself that it wasn't a real word; it was just a sound and you didn't know what it meant. But it was a milestone that I wasn't there to witness, and it made me upset.

I know I'll be around for many more milestones, both big and small, but that just seemed like one of the biggest ones. You're also just on the verge of thinking about crawling - even though you're an absolute pro at rolling from one place to another - but I stared into your eyes before I left and made you promise that you wouldn't crawl while I was gone. I just didn't think to make you promise you'd stay mute until I got back, too! 

The best thing about going on that business trip, though, was the excitement and anticipation about coming home to see you after such a long time. I made it home before you went to bed, and the smile I got from you when you saw me walk through the door was absolutely priceless.

I swear I came back to a different kid, though - one much bigger and heavier than the one I left. At least it seemed that way. You're growing up so fast, buddy. Slow down and let mommy savor it a little more, would ya?

Love,

Mom

Dear Colin... (4-and-a-half months)

Dear Colin:

Tonight I put you down in your crib and rested my arms and chin on the front of it while I watched you sleep.

One of my favorite parts of the day - and I have many now, all of which have something to do with you - is right after you fall asleep nursing when it's your bedtime. You're exhausted at this point, so you rarely wake up when I pull you up to my shoulder to burp you. After gently patting your back for a few minutes, I then just rest my cheek on the side of your head, rub your back, rock you in the rocking chair in your darkened nursery, and listen to you breathe softly while you snooze.

This is usually when I tear up thinking about just how much I love you, and thank God for blessing me with such a precious little boy.

You're 4-and-a-half months old now, and it's been a wonder to watch you discover the world. Your hands are rarely anywhere but your mouth, and no amount of burp cloths in the world are enough to keep up with your drool. You can grasp toys pretty well for a few seconds, but the challenge is being coordinated enough to get them from your hands to your mouth. You usually end up dropping the toy and settling for your fingers. Your oral fixation is yet another trait you got from your daddy, who's always chewing on something too.

Your eyes now follow me as I walk around a room, and I can always count on hearing the "oh hell no this is SO NOT what I wanted right now" shriek when I go into the closet or another room for a few seconds and thus out of your sight. You don't do well being alone, and are happiest in mommy's arms. You'll settle for daddy's arms occasionally, but sometimes it's only mommy's arms that will calm you down. I have to admit that I kind of love that about you, even though I roll my eyes and claim it's exhausting that you always want to be with me.

I love our bond. I love that even in the middle of a crying fit I can bust out the Shark Kisses Game that will immediately turn your tears into smiles. (To play Shark Kisses, I just hum the "Jaws" theme song while getting closer and closer to you until I attack you with kisses. You LOVE it whenever I start singing "dun dun! dun dun! dun dun dun dun dun dun...")

You've just started rolling over, but are far from being a pro. Right now you're pretty content with being on your stomach or your back as long as I'm interacting with you in some way. Heaven forbid I glance at my phone or want to put you in your highchair so I can make myself some dinner. Neither of those activities involve you, so most of the time you're not having that. Everything I need to do that doesn't involve you usually happen after you're down for the night, which these days is rarely past 8 p.m.

I wish you would stay up until at least 9, but after spending a full day at daycare, you usually start getting crabby around 7. I love all the things you're learning there, but just don't feel like I get enough time with you during the week. I pick you up around 6:15 every day, so by the time we get home, I usually have just one precious hour on the floor with you and your toys before the eye-rubbing signals it's time for our "B" routine: Book, Bath, Boob, Bed. Daddy has the morning routine with you, which means I get the evenings.

After reading a book to you - or half a book, depending on how cranky you are at this point - I can always count on the warm bath to calm you down and make you happy again. You LOVE the bath, and are usually happiest gnawing on the washcloth, kicking at the water, and staring at me sitting next to the tub.

Next up is the lotion and diapering and getting you into your jammies hopefully before you start to cry because you're ready for bed and I'm not yet at the point where I'm settled in the rocking chair to watch as you contentedly nurse yourself to sleep.

So yes, Colin, I often watch you sleep, which might be creepy if I weren't your mommy. But I am, and I thank God every day that he gave me you.

Love,
Mom