Dear Norah,
It’s the most cliche thing ever as a parent to say that I don’t know where the time went. Like, I used to make fun of people for saying such things. I hope one day you’ll know what this feels like, because it’s as terrifying as it is amazing.
You started crying a few minutes ago, while I was writing this, and because we’re trying to get you to sleep longer without nursing your dad went to help. I turned the mute button on the TV so I could hear him reading to you because it’s my favorite thing ever. The voices he uses, the way he holds you, the way you turn and look up at him: I was foolish to think that before you came I could love him any more than I already did.
We had the best summer together, baby girl. We have a routine now: I hear you stirring on the monitor and I announce my presence before I enter your room. When I open the door and turn on the light you have the most beautiful smile ready for me. Like you’ve been saving it. I take you back to my bed and you eat and we snuggle and I ask you what your dreams were like. I hope you dream of me.
Then we go downstairs and play and eat and play and eat and then we play and then we eat and then we sleep. It’s a cycle that I have come to love. Now that you eat solids we switch things up- corn! green beans! strawberries! Bananas are your absolute favorite- you gobble those up. I’ll be honest- you’re still all about the mighty Boob. I don’t mind! It means you come back to me every once in a while, which is funny because you NEVER.STOP. MOVING. You are a force to be reckoned with, my love. You move so fast and so stealthily that I’m terrified I’ll forget to baby-proof (more like YOU-proof) something and you’ll electrocute yourself. You do seem to have a death wish. I adore your spirit.
Norah, I live every day with you, every minute, every hour and still I miss you when you sleep. I long to have you near me, to smell you and see your smile and ask you questions you don’t comprehend. I am torn between two worlds: one where you talk to me and tell me what you’re thinking, and one where you still need me to rock you to sleep.
You’re so fiercely independent already, which I love. But the other day someone grabbed you from me, and you (like always) were so chill. Until you turned around and realized I was somewhere else. And you looked around, found me, and reached your chubby little arms out toward me. My heart stopped. I will always reach back.
I love you,
Mama
Spokeit 