My darling Matthias,
One year. One year of sweet baby snuggles, big blue eyed stares, smooching chubby cheeks and feeling your dimpled fingers curled around mine. One year of watching your big brother and sister learn how nurturing they can be and enjoying how loving and sweet they are with you. One year of watching you return their crazy attention, incessant kisses and protective helpfulness with adoring looks, squeals of happiness and delighted wild waving of your little hands. One year of falling more deeply in love with you each day as I watch you slowly become the individual person you are.
I have to now admit that I started messing up with you even before the pee dried on the pregnancy test. All those prenatal classes I took with your brother and sister? I only made three during my entire pregnancy with you. I didn't even crack open a pregnancy book or skim an prenatal article. With you, I pretty much forgot I was pregnant until the 37th week when I started begging you to come out. We didn't decide on a name until after you were born and I didn't even know your middle name until your social security card came in the mail (for some reason I thought it was Luke!). Sadly, there were games to attend and birthday parties to throw and apples to pick, and homework to check so I never got the chance to properly take the time to enjoy being pregnant with you. For that, I am sorry.
You have always just come along for the ride, strapped in my trusty carrier or sleeping in your car seat. It’s possible you came to believe the car seat was your actual home during those early weeks. I nursed you (and still do!) but I didn’t do so with the same intensity I did with your brother and sister. This year I nursed while helping James with his homework, or watching Madeleine perform her latest spin she learned in dance class and a few time while holding a puke bucket for one of them! Maybe, just maybe that all that organized chaos was a good thing though because everyone who has met you can't help but smile and comment at how laid back and happy you are, just watching and laughing as the world goes by. Your sweet, quiet demeanor and your big blue eyes pull in anyone who looks your way.
Things change, little one. I am not the mommy your brother or sister had when they were babies.
Instead, I am this one. I’ve had almost 7 years of fevers, runny noses, night terrors, potty training, wet beds, good night kisses, lap reading, and teacher conferences. I’ve been around this block, attended this rodeo, and learned a thing or two. All those clichés have taught me this: nothing is as simple as it seems, especially parenting.
You, my dear third child, may seem neglected. It may seem you’ve lost out when it comes to new baby clothing, perfect baby toys, and constant cleanliness. Yes, I’ve kept you in a wet diaper far longer than I would have with your brother or sister. But you are not neglected. I think of you constantly. You are my growing baby and I am so aware of that fact, it fills me with sadness every night when you go to sleep. That’s one day less you of you as my chubby-cheeked, brown-haired, diapered baby. We move one step closer to you as a child, running away from me and toward your life. When you were 6 months, our pediatrician had to actually reminded me (repeatedly) about making sure I was putting you down enough so you could explore. Doesn't he know how fleeting this time is? Doesn't he understand that once you start running there is no slowing down? As I watch your older siblings grow so independent, I just want to hold on to you tighter and longer. So no, you don't get to explore as much as your brother and sister did. Instead you get more snuggles.
So I am taking this moment to remind you that even though you might not have the perfect, coddled, bubble-wrapped babyhood I gave your older brother and sister, you do have my rapt attention. And I now have more patience and more practice at this parenting thing, even if it doesn't always seem to be the case. Please remember that even though you are probably, as I type, picking dog hair from your sippy cup and eating day-old cheerios off the floor, those things are superficial. The way I feel about you isn’t.
Last, but not least, I want you to remember this: children who grow up eating dog hair are less likely to develop allergies. Plus, floor Cheerios boost immunity.
Love always,
Your (frazzled, overwhelmed, but always loving) Mama
