A Painted House

Dear Edison,

This week you turned three months old.  And you’re ravenous. What’s that saying about a hollow leg?  ‘Cause I’m about to start thumping on your appendages or whistling into your sweet little wide-open-searching-for-food mouth and listening for an echo.  You want to eat all.the.time. day and night (don’t get me wrong, I feel you on that one, I really do), and I’m trying hard not to focus on how long this growth spurt might last and instead picturing just how cute I will look in those skinny jeans if this keeps up.  And when people ask me how I lost all the weight I’ll tell them it’s this great little program called The Hungry Baby. 

If your mouth isn’t open searching for sustenance, it’s because you’re trying to get your entire fist back somewhere near your uvula.  I swear, darling, you’re like one of those fish that lives with its mouth constantly open, sucking in anything that comes near it in hopes that it will prove satisfying.  A really, really cute sucker fish though. Just to be clear.  The upside of you having found your hands (and by the way, watching you fold and unfold your little fingers two inches from your face and seeing your eyes cross as you try so hard to focus on something that close to your eyes….always, always funny) is that if your pacifier falls out of your mouth you have an instant replacement!  Only you’re not quite adept enough to maneuver all those pesky fingers in a way that you can really get a good hold on them (maybe we should have James hold a seminar on that, he’s got it DOWN).  So instead of a quiet, squeaky sucking sound we are routinely serenaded by the shlurp and squelch of a determined baby who just can’t quite shove that knuckle far enough down his throat.  It sounds reminiscent of someone is using the plunger on the sink with enough vigor to cause the plants in the front yard to suddenly disappear into a hole and pop out of the disposal.  Only LOUDER.

Edison, before your next letter your Mama will turn thirty years old.  On one hand that sounds really old but on the other I look at your sweet face and feel like as the mother of two children, I’ve earned thirty.  Before you were born regularly I told you that for my birthday you could give me a full night’s sleep and I would be a happy woman.  And for a while there I thought we were right on track for that goal.  You were sleeping longer and longer stretches, even going six hours at a time between meals on occasion.  It.was.glorious.  And then last week you seem to have lost focus and reverted back to the early days of waking every two hours to eat.  Think about this, son; of all the people in my life you have the opportunity to give me the most cherished gift by doing……nothing.  At least between the hours of 10 p.m. and 6 a.m.  I think your Dad would kill for the opportunity to get away with a gift like that.  So please take the offer, because in light of your recent sucker-fish impersination I could really use the sleep.

It’s February now Edison, which is not only the shortest but also the meanest month of the year.  It’s a tease, making us think that Spring is coming and then BAM!  It’s frigid again and we wake up to seventy-two inches of snow.  Kind of like you and that whole sleeping through the night thing, hmmm?  Anywhoo.  I can’t wait for Spring to come because you’re going to LOVE it.  Thus far you’ve lived your entire life inside, barring the sixty second walks into and out of various buildings.  And as far as you know this is all there is, the four of us bouncing around the inside of our house and off of each other as we wait out the permacloud.   Your warm little body, crystal-clear blue eyes, and enthusiastic grin has been a bright spot in the winter gloom.  But just wait, Edison, until you feel the sunshine on your face.   And taste sand from the sandbox because I wasn’t fast enough.  Or feel what grass is like under your feet and between your grubby little fingers as you yank it up by the roots.   And soon I won’t have to wrestle you into that ridiculously cute hat that you hate so much.  Spring means walks outside and fresh air and a whole world you know nothing about.  God was so good to us when he created new life and growth that re-appears each year, reminding us that even the darkest and coldest seasons will pass.  And since your little self has brought such joy and life to our family during these long months of confinement, I’m betting you and Spring will get along just fine.

Love, Mama

Dear Edison.

Last week you turned 2 months old.  There is something so magical about the two-month mark in a baby’s life.  You suddenly transition from a little lump of baby into a smiling, giggling, cooing, charm machine wearing a dinosaur sleeper.   Your little personality is coming out in spades and let me tell you son, in this house full of big personalities you hold your own.  You’ve found your star quality and you’re working it for all it’s worth. Edison, you are one of the smiliest babies I’ve ever seen.  You cracked your first little smirk at three weeks old and it didn’t take more than a day or two before you realized that a big grin is your highest form of currency.  You seem to already understand that if you put on a big googly smile and coo a few syllables you’ll get and keep the rapt attention of every adult in the room.  As  a second child this is a particularly ingenious  move because you looooove personal attention and the big kid is capable of stealing it all away with one well-timed jump off of something high.  Nothing makes you happier than when your Dad and I lean over you and encourage you to interact with us by turning into a pair of chipmunks, squeaking and chattering because it makes you smile.  And then you glance over at your brother with those luminous, shining eyes and gummy grin and one can almost hear the challenge being extended, “Compete with that, Big Brother.  Bring it.”

Thankfully, your brother really does seem to like you.  My Mommy heart puddles each time he prays before our dinner and thanks God for his baby brother.  When you fuss he comes over, leans in close to your face, and asks you, “Why are you so sad, baby brother?  It’s ok, it’s ok.”  He wants to check on you while you sleep (often signaling the end of your sleep – sorry about that), asks you to play cars in the play room, and in general invades your space on a daily basis to the point that it endangers your personal safety.   And it’s all out of love, at least for now.  We’re just watching and waiting, ever ready for the day he tries to shove cheese up your nose.  Should he prove stealthier than I anticipate, I promise to get it all out so you don’t go through life thinking the world smells of cheddar.  Though I can think of worse things.

Edison, I believe you are what’s referred to as an Easy Baby.  God bless you, child.  It seems, looking back with a new level of experience, that your brother was NOT an easy baby.  Adorable, joyful, darling? Yes. But easy?  No.  So to have a child who eats willingly and eagerly, sleeps well and without a fight, and spends much of his awake time happily observing the world around him….well, it’s less a pleasant surprise and more a total shock to the system.  For months leading up to your arrival I was mentally preparing for the onslaught of the sleepless nights, questionable napping, and pokey eating I associated with newborns, only to receive, well, you.  What a blessing you are, sweet pea.

Also worth mentioning, somewhere near the eight week mark we finally, finally, finally reached the glorious state where the process of you eating lunch doesn’t leave me curling my toes, eyes raised to heaven, crying on the couch, whispering “Jesus, help me.”  You have no idea the dedication, determination, and questionable mental state it takes to shove a hungry baby toward a broken and bleeding part of one’s anatomy ten times per day, Edison.  Should you ever seek proof that your mother might be just a little bit Type A, a little “I started it so I’m going to finish it IF IT KILLS ME,”  don’t start with my college GPA or the four years I spent behind a desk putting your Dad through medical school.  Look to the first few weeks of your life, my determination to outlast the pain if it meant a year or more of free food and protection for your immune system, and the sheer stubborness displayed therein.  Just keep all that in mind when that same personality trait that netted you the best nutrition as an infant also makes you organize your underpants by color.

All that to say, Huzzah! for two months.

Love, Mama