One Month and Counting...

Dear Sam -

Mama can't believe you are one month old already! It seems like yesterday I was squeezing you out of my vagina. It astounds me how much you've changed in 28 short days, how much you've grown! We already have clothes that don't fit you. Your little legs are getting so strong, day by day, and you love it when you daddy lets you stand on his lap. You hold your head up steady for a good 2 minutes sometimes before your neck gets floppy. You love to play this game we call 'kamikaze baby' where you try and fling yourself out of the arms of whoever is holding you. Mom and dad think this it's funny to hand you over to someone and not warn them about this. (Don't worry Sam. Everyone holds onto you very tightly, and we would never let someone drop you!) Another game you're daddy likes but your mama hates is called 'consequences.' In this game, daddy lets you lie on his chest when you are all squirmy, and when you roll off one side into his waiting arm, he looks at you and yells 'Consequences!' Remember when you were first born and your little hands and feet were blue? Now you are a lovely shade of pink all over! You're belly button is so adorable, I would totally do a shot out of it! (But not while I am breastfeeding.) When we first brought you home, you used to love to stare at the wall. I am not kidding. The ecru wall was your favorite non-boob thing in the whole wide world! Now you like to play in your gymni and with Grover! And you love to have your belly tickled! Sometimes I look at your little face and wonder how I got so lucky. Other times, I look at your face and wonder if you'll ever go the fuck to sleep, but those moments are dwindling, thank god! There were days in the beginning that I thought maybe I wasn't cut out for this whole motherhood racket, but that was just the hormones taking over. Now if you sleep for more than three hours in a row, I wake with a start and snatch you up just so I can hold you and smell your baby head and kiss your little face a million times. Remember that your mama loves you more than any girl (or boy) ever could. That I will always be there to give you a boob snack, even at three in the morning. That no amount of pooping or crying could ever make me love you any less than I do, and in fact probably makes me love you more.

Happy Birthday, Peanut!

Note: I know I stole this idea from Dooce, but isn't imitation the most sincere form of flattery? Besides, read what she wrote about it and tell me you wouldn't want to do the same thing!