from me to you.

dear evie,

did you know you are thirteen months old? did you know you are no longer a baby or an infant, but now a real live ONE YEAR OLD. how did this happen, i ask? i am determined to figure it out.

these days you are just more of everything you have always been. you are more silly, more fun. you are more dramatic and you give me heartbreaking tears when i take something away from you that you aren't allowed to have. you are smarter and quicker. you scurry your little booty all around the house leaving messes and mischief in your wake. you are more animated, more tender. you give me spontaneous kisses on the lips periodically throughout the day, as if its the most normal thing in the world. you are more fearless and more independent. i could write for hours about your independence. how it breaks my heart to let you do everything on your own.

this morning we ate breakfast in the living room, bathed in warm sunshine. we sat on the rug together, you and i, and shared a piece of banana bread. usually you don't let me feed you anything (unless it is a piece of my chocolate brownie) but this morning you were feeling more generous, so instead of devouring the entire piece with your pudgy little hands, you let me feed you bites, one at a time. i couldn't help but laugh as your little mouth opened with anticipation each time i broke off a piece of bread. into your mouth my offering would go and then you would scurry back to your spot on the floor to check on your toys, your dolls, your books-still where you'd left them. once you'd seen it all, back to me you would come. mouth open wide, long hair sticking straight up, soft cotton pajamas covered in tiny pink buds.

it has been so long since you let me feed you. i couldn't help but remember how it used to be. me, holding both your hands in one of mine as i fed you spoonfuls of mushed avocado. you, wide-eyed and curious, taking in the flavors and textures for the very first time.

now, you eat lasagna and sandwiches and graham crackers with nutella. now we take you out to lunch with us and order you a little side of macaroni all for yourself. now, you feed yourself the yogurt-only allowing me to dip the spoon in the bowl before i give it back to you and let you try to do it yourself. you'll have it no other way.

i've lamented over your independence before, with my own mom, and she always tells me the same thing- "you were exactly the same way". and of course, she is right. i can still remember it. tiny little me, standing in the bathroom on a stool, with a brush and a comb and a little tin full of clips. me, doing my own hair and choosing my own clothes and climbing onto the counter to make my own sandwich and dreaming, always, of growing up.

i have always known this about myself. i am very independent. but never before did i consider my sweet mom. i wish i had given her more time. i wish i would have let her make my sandwich and choose my outfit and do my hair passed the age of three. i wish i wouldn't have been in such a hurry to grow up.

i wish i would have known that growing up is totally overrated.

trust me on this!

month three.

Look at you, Evie girl! 3 months old!

That means that together, you and I have survived 3 months of poop, pee, diapers, outfit changes, laundry, spit-up, throw-up, projectile vomit, tears, nap-times, bed-times, sleeping-through-the-night-times, kisses, open-mouthed kisses, drool, thumb-sucking, snuggling, rocking, holding, swaddling, fingernail-clipping, bathing, lotioning, singing, reading, medicine-dispensing, check-ups, up-chuck-ups, car-rides, story-times, bath-times, play-times and, of course, lots and lots of great times.

I have changed hundreds of diapers. You have soiled every piece of clothing you own (which explains this, um, eclectic? outfit you are wearing. Don't ask.) I have learned how to locate your binkie in the backseat and get it into your mouth while driving a car and texting at the same time (kidding! jeez!). I have learned that you love it when I sing, you love it more when I "shake-it". You think I'm hilarious. Your Dad thinks I'm nuts (but maybe a little bit hilarious, too, right G?).

I know how to soothe you, how to calm you, how to hold you, what to say. I know what you need, regardless of that fact that I leave the room and let your Daddy work it out sometimes. I know how you feel. I know what makes you happy. Your eyes follow mine when I leave the room.

I call you Evie baby, Evie girl, Evie Janie and lovey dove. I call you itty bitty and dovey girl and stinker woman, when you're being just that. I call you goober and lady and buggy (are you getting confused yet?). He calls you sweetie. He calls us his girls.
We both call you Ev.

I call you the best thing that has ever happened to me. I call you the love of my life.

I call you mine.

month two.

Dear Ev,

Today I feel like writing you a letter. You are 10 weeks old! Where has the time gone? Part of me feels like it has all flown by and the other part of me feels like I've known you and loved you forever, which makes sense, because I have. Now that you are here, I simply cannot imagine my life without smiley, giggly, happy, adorable little you.

You are 10 weeks old, but you don't yet weigh 10 pounds (9 pounds 7 ounces last we checked) . You are 10 weeks old and still fit best in things that are labeled "newborn". You sleep 9 hours at night, from 10pm to 7am (bless you!) and you finally love to nurse. You are 10 weeks old and a complete delight.

Your little life is busy and you spend it smiling. You are a happy baby and so easy going and content. I don't like being home all the time, so I have tried hard to continue to go out and do the things that make me happy and I am so grateful that you will go with the flow and let me drag you along. You have gotten used to taking your nap in your carseat, or in your stroller, or at Nana's house, if that's where we are. Although you are flexible, you love your schedule and follow it religiously. If I am even 10 minutes late putting you down for a nap you will surely let me know that "it's nap time!" and you'd like to go to sleep now! You don't like to be  rocked or bounced when it's time for bed, you just want to be swaddled and put down and then you will close your little eyes and happily fall asleep, without all the fuss. You remind me so much of your Dad in that way.

Speaking of your Dad...he adores you, but that doesn't surprise us, does it? He calls to check on you every day and tells you he missed you every night. I love what you have done to him, Evie. You have changed him. Suddenly he sings songs and changes diapers and is the guy in the restaurant feeding a baby a bottle. We both knew that parenthood would be hard and require a lot of energy, but I don't think either of us could have anticipated how happy it would make us. You make us want more babies now and could they please all be exactly like you?

I wish I could tell you how much I love you. I don't know how. My Mom used to tell me that I wouldn't understand how she feels about me until I had a baby of my own and now I will say the same thing to you, because it's true.

I don't know how to describe that feeling, so I will say this instead. For a few days last week, you weren't feeling well. We aren't sure why, but for some reason you were throwing up every day. I would nurse you and try to soothe you and sure enough, eventually you would throw up in my hair, down my shirt, all over my outfit, with tears streaming down your face. By the third day I had a mountain of laundry to do and had taken at least 10 showers. Your Dad jokingly told me to stop holding you so much. It would make more sense for me to put you down after feeding you and wait for you to throw up in your chair rather than all over me. It made sense, but it didn't happen. No matter how many times I ended up with puke in my hair, I held you.

Being a Mom feels like that. Regardless of the situation, I want to be the one holding you. If you have to throw up, then I want you to do it in my arms. I want to make you happy, make you feel better. I want to be the one who wipes your tears and makes you smile again. I want to be the one who is cooped up in this little home with you, covered in your spit-up.

I will always be here for you, baby girl. There is no where else for me to be.

Love,
Mommy