Dear Scarlett,
In case you are wondering, you still look almost exactly like your dad. Only your face is starting to get just a pinch rounder finally. At our appointment yesterday that was one of the first questions I was anxious to discuss with your pediatrician -- when you were going to fatten up. You, my love, are a petite little baby. Luckily, there was no need to fret. You gained a whole pound in the past month and grew more than an inch.
In just the past few days I’ve noticed that your newborn jammies are starting to pull when you kick or stretch your legs all the way out. You haven’t outgrown them just yet, but it goes to show how much you’ve grown since this picture was taken in the hospital:
Also, after last night I’m ready to declare your newborn diapers officially outgrown. Even though Momma is usually painstakingly organized when it comes to your stuff, I managed to mix up some of your size 1 diapers with newborn ones in the stash that we keep in the basket of your bassinet, and we’ve been just putting you in whatever size we grab. (It’s not easy to tell the difference between them. They both look like they could fit a Barbie doll.) I didn’t want to accept that you’d outgrown half the diapers we still have for you… But after you peed through your third diaper (two hours after your bedtime change last night), I realized it’s time to face facts.
So you are growing. It’s just so hard to imagine that it’s my milk alone that’s nourishing you so well; helping you to grow from this squirmy little ball of lungs and appetite into an actual person; strong and healthy. It almost doesn’t seem possible, and I guess that’s why I was anxious to get feedback from the doctor about your size. Hearing the doctor gush about how well you’re growing yesterday made me just swell with pride. It wasn’t just your size that impressed him, either. It was, again, your strength, which doctors have been impressed with since our days in the hospital… and of course, your lungs. Girl… You. Can. Cry!
Your cry, oddly enough, is one of the things I want to remember forever about you. You have, what I like to call the ten second warning signal. When you first start to fuss, it’s deceptively gentle. Dainty, even. You have the whimper of a helpless little puppy. I’m not joking. First your eyebrows come together to form this little teepee over your face, and you make a pretty little pout with your lips. The sound that comes out of you is so fragile and endearing, I swear sometimes I’d rather just watch you whimper than take care of what you need -- it is THAT adorable. It sucks you in like a vortex of cuteness. It’s a trap. After no more than ten seconds, it turns to this hellacious siren of a wail. Your helpless little face turns red with rage and you start throwing your fists around like you are looking for a fight. If you weren’t so helplessly tiny, it might actually be intimidating. And it is the same no matter what you need… even if all you want is to be held, you’ll cry like you haven’t eaten in three days. The first few times you shocked the hell out of your dad. He was sure you were suffering from a hernia or something, only to find out that you’d simply squirted about a teardrop of urine in your diaper and wanted to be changed. The second you’re tended to, though, you’re all rainbows and butterflies again… Like the happiest baby in the world; not a cloud in your sky.
Make no mistake about it, child, you are a high-maintenance baby. When people ask if you are sleeping though the night yet, I just look at you and I laugh. You eat every two to three hours still, and you don’t take breaks just because the sun went down. At least you sleep at night in between your feedings, though. During the day, you require pretty constant attention. You do not like to be left to your own devices in your crib or bassinet unless you’re ready to fall asleep -- which you don’t mind doing on your own. If you’re awake, though, you fully expect to be played with the entire time.
When you do fuss for some attention, though, all it really takes is a little talking to. You don’t necessarily need to be held twenty-four/seven. The bottom line is that you just don’t like to be lonely, and you’re not a fan on silence. Some of the best sleep you ever get is in a busy restaurant or being carted around through a crowded grocery store. You like a lot of commotion and the low hum of a lot of chatter -- which is fitting because our life is really never very quiet for very long. Sometimes just having Matthew play with his cars or his blocks within earshot of your bassinet is entertainment enough for you. And watching him? Well that is something that you and I could both do for hours. He is such a nut. In fact, he is the only one besides me who’s been able to make you smile so far.
He loves the living daylights out of you.
As far as playtime goes, we have a lot of things that we do. First and foremost is reading. I am a literacy fanatic so reading together is something we make a lot of time for everyday. I’ve even started reading some of my own favorite books aloud to you during your nursings: partially because we haven‘t started much of a collection of children’s stories for you yet, and partially because a mom can only take so many Thomas the Tank Engine stories in a single day before her brain starts to liquify and oozes out of her ears. I also try to always do Matthew’s phonics games and alphabet flashcards with you nearby. I don’t know if there’s any real benefit to any of these things, but I figure that as long as you’re busy listening to us, it couldn’t hurt to give you something worthwhile to listen to. Lord knows you spend enough time listening to me bark at your brother like a sleep deprived lunatic (not that I'm blaming YOU guys or anything…) so the least I could do is balance out the crazy with a little bit of good, right?
You also like your rainforest playmat, but to be honest, I haven’t put you on it very often. When Matthew was your age, he spent a lot of time on it while I polished furniture or made the bed nearby, but since I have to protect you from things like… you know, getting Tonka trucks tossed at your face, you aren’t afforded the same luxuries. (Sorry, kiddo. Occupational hazard of being second-in-line.) On the upside: when it is playtime, you get my complete undivided attention - because that’s the only way to avoid you getting Tonka trucks tossed at your face. I normally lie you on the bed with me, though, where I feel like you’re more protected from accidents. Then I make silly faces at you for as long as you and your brother will let me. Or as long as it takes for laundry to start spilling out from the windows into the front lawn. Whichever comes first.
As far as playtime goes, we have a lot of things that we do. First and foremost is reading. I am a literacy fanatic so reading together is something we make a lot of time for everyday. I’ve even started reading some of my own favorite books aloud to you during your nursings: partially because we haven‘t started much of a collection of children’s stories for you yet, and partially because a mom can only take so many Thomas the Tank Engine stories in a single day before her brain starts to liquify and oozes out of her ears. I also try to always do Matthew’s phonics games and alphabet flashcards with you nearby. I don’t know if there’s any real benefit to any of these things, but I figure that as long as you’re busy listening to us, it couldn’t hurt to give you something worthwhile to listen to. Lord knows you spend enough time listening to me bark at your brother like a sleep deprived lunatic (not that I'm blaming YOU guys or anything…) so the least I could do is balance out the crazy with a little bit of good, right?
You also like your rainforest playmat, but to be honest, I haven’t put you on it very often. When Matthew was your age, he spent a lot of time on it while I polished furniture or made the bed nearby, but since I have to protect you from things like… you know, getting Tonka trucks tossed at your face, you aren’t afforded the same luxuries. (Sorry, kiddo. Occupational hazard of being second-in-line.) On the upside: when it is playtime, you get my complete undivided attention - because that’s the only way to avoid you getting Tonka trucks tossed at your face. I normally lie you on the bed with me, though, where I feel like you’re more protected from accidents. Then I make silly faces at you for as long as you and your brother will let me. Or as long as it takes for laundry to start spilling out from the windows into the front lawn. Whichever comes first.
And so do I.
Developmentally, there’s still not a whole lot that you can do. You are still only six weeks old so you’re not exactly performing acrobatics yet, but you are right where you should be for your age bracket. You can follow objects with your eyes, respond to sound, and carry your head pretty sturdily on your shoulders in an upright position. When Matthew or Mary come scooting up behind you singing your name, you dart your head around to find them. And when Daddy’s holding you, he always laughs at the distinct way you’re whole face responds to catching me walk into a room.
You’re definitely starting to have your distinct reactions to everyone in the family. You smile that wonderful little smile of yours the moment our eyes meet and you’ve recently started to Coo a little here and there in response to my words. You even open and close your mouth, like you might be trying to mimic my speech… though it normally just results in you spewing out dribble. For me, you light up. We are totally best buds, while Daddy is like your tranquilizer. Every afternoon after he kicks off his work boots and then settles down for the night, he grabs you and there you’re stuck until it’s time for bed. He tries to play with you for as long as you’ll let him, but once he puts you to his chest, especially belly-down the way you like, you are utterly comatose until he peels you off for bedtime. I’m talking drool and snoring; the whole nine yards. Any other time you’re a terribly light sleeper. But elephants could stampede past your head, and if Daddy were holding you, you’d never even flinch. He calls it snapping together like Legos, like you were made to just “fit” perfectly in his arms.
The four of us argue everyday over who loves you the most.
Developmentally, there’s still not a whole lot that you can do. You are still only six weeks old so you’re not exactly performing acrobatics yet, but you are right where you should be for your age bracket. You can follow objects with your eyes, respond to sound, and carry your head pretty sturdily on your shoulders in an upright position. When Matthew or Mary come scooting up behind you singing your name, you dart your head around to find them. And when Daddy’s holding you, he always laughs at the distinct way you’re whole face responds to catching me walk into a room.
You’re definitely starting to have your distinct reactions to everyone in the family. You smile that wonderful little smile of yours the moment our eyes meet and you’ve recently started to Coo a little here and there in response to my words. You even open and close your mouth, like you might be trying to mimic my speech… though it normally just results in you spewing out dribble. For me, you light up. We are totally best buds, while Daddy is like your tranquilizer. Every afternoon after he kicks off his work boots and then settles down for the night, he grabs you and there you’re stuck until it’s time for bed. He tries to play with you for as long as you’ll let him, but once he puts you to his chest, especially belly-down the way you like, you are utterly comatose until he peels you off for bedtime. I’m talking drool and snoring; the whole nine yards. Any other time you’re a terribly light sleeper. But elephants could stampede past your head, and if Daddy were holding you, you’d never even flinch. He calls it snapping together like Legos, like you were made to just “fit” perfectly in his arms.
The four of us argue everyday over who loves you the most.
It is definitely me.
To the moon & back, Little-Face,
Love, Mommy
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