Dear Talitha,
We took the newborn insert out of your car seat the other day. You are a big girl now. Maybe 15 pounds? And you were starting to look quite silly with that little cushion around your head.
You sleep through the night. You like to go to bed around 8:30pm. Your eyes get droopy at that time, you fall asleep while nursing, and you transfer into your crib without a single fuss. For awhile, I was trying to dream feed you around 11pm each night, but you would barely eat. Now I just put you down at 8:30, slip out of your room, and I don’t come back until I hear your gentle little hunger sounds in the morning.
You also rolled over the other day. I didn’t see it, but your dad {who is in charge of your physical exercise such as tummy time and standing practice} placed you on your stomach and you rolled right over onto your back. You were so startled you cried, but we were all very proud of your unexpected accomplishment.
I ponder all these things you are able to do – sleep through the night, stay awake for an hour during the day, smile at anyone and everyone – and it seems like you are so big and advanced. But then I remember that you are two and a half months old. You are not a newborn anymore. With Zianne, the hazy, tired newborn days are etched in my memory. I remember napping on the couch with a baby on my chest, the pain of first time nursing, all the novelty of going out and about for the first time – to the doctor, to church, to the fair. But then the next few months are a blur. I honestly barely remember when Z was two, three, four months old. The fog starts to clear around month eight or nine. Then I can remember again.
But with you those newborn days flew by. They weren’t novel. They were calm, peaceful, and productive even. We had lots of family visitors. We traveled. I finished a chapter of my dissertation when you were just two weeks old. I wore you on my chest and typed the afternoons away. And now suddenly you are over two months old and you are blossoming into a little girl. You have a tiny dimple when you smile. You love to be held. You have gone to swim lessons twice now. You are outgrowing your car seat and your swaddle. I’ve packed up all your tiny clothes.
I want to remember these days. I want to remember months two, three, four. I want to pay attention each day as your eyes become more alert, as you hold your head up higher, as your constant smile turns into a giggle. May the days of you being a big {yet tiny} girl be forever etched in my memory.
Love,
Mama
