My dear Baby Girl. You have been here for 6 weeks already. The first month went by so quickly, I missed the day completely when you became a month old, I was busy doing something. Your Oma had just arrived and we were doing something and your one-month anniversary slipped by. Sometimes I feel this little twinge of panic at the back of my heart like I’m missing your baby hood. I am so busy, even with help I am busy, maybe busier because of it, and time slips by. I realized the other day that I’ve not sat and held you much at all since that first week after you were born. I’ve nursed you, a lot, I’ve carried you around while I walk, while I grocery shop, while I take care of your brother and sister and talk on the phone. You sleep next to me every night, curled in the crick of my arm, but my attention is always elsewhere. The moments when we look in each other’s eyes seem few and far between, and there are so many others to hold you as well. I’m imagining some of it I’m sure, because I know I’ve held you and done nothing but look at you. I rarely see the top of your head without kissing it, my lips pressed against the sweet softness of your fontanel, inhaling your scent. I laugh at all of the funny faces that you make, and you make many. But the panic remains, lurks there in the background, the feeling that you’re growing up and I am missing it.
I know now how quickly I can forget how tiny you were, what your face looked like, the floppy sweetness as you snort and sigh and snuggle closer, the muffled squeaks you make while sleeping. I am always shocked to look at pictures of your brother and sister when they were younger. They look so different, so small so chubby, their faces so indistinct compared to now and I wonder, “When did they change? How did I not notice that happening?” I know I will do the same with you, and I want to remember.
We’ve nicknamed you Vizzini.* Partially because your hair has all fallen out on top and you look like you have some male pattern baldness, but mostly because of the way you scrunch up your face and give us the old one eye and we imagine that if you could talk you’d be shouting, “Inconceivable!” or “Ever hear of Plato, Socrate’s?…Morons!”
You have gained some chub on those scrawny little legs of yours now; your bottom now looks like it has cheeks on it instead of the little bird type of scrawny you were when we first saw you. You can lift your head, and you’re very excited about what your legs can do. (Which isn’t much by the way, we’re only putting you on when we fly you into the air in response to every little knee bend, you can’t really jump yet, but we “don’t want to (feel) discouraged.”) Your eyes now look blue most days, though I thought they would be hazel for a while, they are pretty and bright whatever color they are. Whenever you open them to examine your world the Boy and the Girl drop what they’re doing to run over to you exclaiming, “Look mom, the Baby’s opened her eyes, she’s awake.” It’s very exciting for them to imagine you looking at them.
The Girl is not a bit jealous of your place at my breast. The other day she came into our bed for a while in the morning and fell asleep. When she woke up you were nursing and I caught her peeking over my shoulder and smiling at you; a sweet angelic smile, her entire face alight with wonder as she watched you nurse. And then she smiled at me too, and my heart melted into little puddles that trickled out somewhere, maybe into the milk. You inspire that kind of wonder in your family little one, transforming, reverent wonder. Your siblings find you miraculous and I think that I agree.
Welcome to our family little girl, we hope you like us too.
*Points if you can tell me what movie it’s from