Dear Boo Boo Chicken,
If we were going to challenge your easy-going disposition, this was the month. Within the past 4 weeks, give or take a few days, you have: survived your first flu, started daycare, and taken an 1100 mile car trip. Oh yeah girl, Mommy was ready for it to all fall apart. Most people call me Ms. Positivity, but when it comes to babies and schedules, I pretty much assume every day is Armageddon. It might come from the slightest wrinkle causing your sister to scream through the night for a month. Screaming until your Daddy and I nearly implode from the stress. MAYBE. I DON’T KNOW.
But no. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. And it’s not like you aren’t conceiving of the changes. Your first day at school, you went on a food strike. I was off work for 18 weeks, and my first day back I had nearly resigned by lunch. We quickly figured out you would only drink formula from bottles (someday I’ll admit to how much breastmilk I’m sneaking into those bottles). And since Day 2, you’ve pretty much smiled non-stop. The trip to Virginia you had no intention of sleeping in the pack n’ play, but you gladly slept next to me. I assumed upon our return home you would ONLY sleep with me. But no. You happily returned to your bed. And just to show me how ridiculous my paranoia is, you now refuse a paci. And I mean REFUSE with force. So I said, “OK, don’t take it, but it’s time for bed Kelly.” You closed your eyes and went right to sleep. What the…? I think it might border on scary genius, but that’s just your Mom talking.
Yesterday you finally found your voice. During immunizations, which I find completely reasonable. Your ever-present partner in crime sat next to you on the table while you nearly turned purple in protest. I’ve never seen you cry with such vigor. Sara, who would never think of allowing anyone to cry without company, cried in a state of camaraderie. “Don’t cry Telly. Be brave! It’s otay Telly!”. The second I picked you up, the crying ceased, and you haven’t cried a second since. Chit chats and coos my dear, but not one tear.
Should you ever wonder what you did with this phase of your life, I can tell you how busy you are. You love love love your playmat. You grab the animals and use them to propel yourself almost completely over. You can roll from your belly to your back so swiftly that I rarely see you do it. Even when I’m sitting right in front of you! Sara dangles trillions of toys in front of you and quizzes you on what they are. And my God do you love Sara. Every night she washes your hair as I wash your belly and you look up at her like she hung the moon. As well, you are the sous to the sous chef. We set you on the island facing us while we cook. Sara has given you a full instructional on the importance of never touching the onions and reasons why we don’t lick raw eggs. So much to learn. Sara has learned it all the hard way, so please heed her advice.
Tonight Daddy picked you up and told you he loves how you smile with your whole body. And then he called you his bucket of joy. That pretty much sums it up. Bottomless bucket of joy. I no longer think about birth order or boys vs girls. Our family has formed in its perfect sequence. It is purely, as it should be. You have completed the team, Kelly. And the three of us love you in an all-consuming-crazy-about-you-can’t-kiss-and-hug-you-enough kind of way.
Leader of the Kelly Groupies,
Mommy
P.S. Your Grandma Sally is displeased with the number of sleepers you wear, as opposed to “cute little outfits”. I can assure you that I regularly dress you in actual clothes, but I only have the energy to take pictures in the morning, when we are all still in our pjs. So basically, I’ll try harder to put you into futzy dresses given to you by Grandma and snap professional style portraits for her to make into her screen savers. For her co-workers reading my blog (and I thank you for joining our merry reading band), please feel free to make fun of her without mercy.