A Painted House

Archive for June 2013

Dear Ivy,

You are one month old!  I’ll  start this letter writing relationship off with some honesty and just say that you are already half way through your next month and I’m just now writing this, your very first monthly letter.  So prompt and on time and punctual, I am.  I have been meaning start your series of letters off right on schedule, I really have, there’s just not been the time. Or the available brain cells. At all.  You’re the third blessing born into our family in five years, which means this Mommy is generally halfway doing six things at once and at any time only two-thirds of the people in this house are wearing pants.  So let’s just accept it now, that there’s a pretty good chance each of your monthly letters will skate in well past its deadline.  Your twenty-fourth and final monthly letter should arrive sometime around your seventh birthday.  But I’ll be darned if you don’t get every one of them eventually, even if It means I have to up our pantsless quotient to half of the family to get it done.  No third child neglect for you, my girl!  (As a side note, I just went back and perused through the letter I wrote to Edison when he was a month old and I also referenced a lack of pants.  I think we can conclude that for reasons unknown, adding new members to our family has a direct correlation with running around in our skivvies.  It’s practically scientifically proven.)

Really, Ivy, it’s amazing that I’m forming sentences at all.  Your arrival itself was smooth, seamless even, (we’ll talk about that more in a minute) but the weeks that followed were something else entirely.  You are just now learning to go more than 60-90 minutes between your meals which means as your Personal Chef, for the first few weeks of your life we saw each other almost every hour of the day, around the clock, and everything around me had fuzzy edges and swayed a bit.  It seems that for me, perhaps there is a price to pay for going into labor spontaneously (even if it was 8 days overdue…..humph), and thus avoiding induction, and that price is living as a narcoleptic for several weeks.  Oh yes, that’s right!  You came all on your own!  I woke up at 3:30 in the morning in real labor, two days before you were scheduled for eviction, and seven short and painful hours later, I was snuggling you.  Well done!  But as I mentioned, your, spontaneous, succinct and straightforward arrival seemed to come with the high price of serving as your All You Can Eat Buffet all day long, every day for the first several weeks of your life.  Add in the special treat that is the newborn inability to burp or poop after each meal without tremendous effort and parental assistance , and you have the recipe for Hey Look, It’s 4 a.m. And We’re Still Awake!  And thus, I could and  fall asleep anywhere, at any time, whether I happened to be eating a sandwich at the moment or not.  This does not amuse your Dad at all.

Ivy, lest this letter sound too whiney and leave you wondering about our feelings for you, let me assure you that you.are.adored.  You are LOVED, girl.   I can’t possibly consume enough of your cheeks or hold you close enough through those nighttime feedings, your brothers are fascinated by your tiny fingers and toes, and your Dad……oh, your Daddy is smitten with you, dumpling. He looks at your sleeping face and I can just see that for the second time in his life, he’s fallen completely in love with a girl.  Your delicate features and sweet pink sleepers and fluffy, sticky-uppy hair have mesmerized us all the last four weeks.  I can’t wait to see how as you grow, your soft little self tempers your brothers, captivates your Dad, and hopefully draws near to me, your Mama, as a friend and ally .   This house has an overwhelming amount of boyness, Ivy.   Your brothers’ influence courses through the toy rooms, dominates the DVR, and dictates the imaginative, roudy play around here.  Oh, what a sweet day it will be my daughter, when you and I can share the private playtime moments I see happen between your Daddy and his sons.  Heaven help me if you too grow up to love Hotwheels and Tinker Toys.  Should that be the case, I will accept as repayment for the Not Sleeping that has been this month, a convincing and commanding performance in the role of Eager Tea Party Participant.

Love, Mama


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