Evan: 2 Months

Dear E,

Two months, just like that. It has come and gone in the blink of an eye (and a number of sleepless nights). You are well on your way out of newborn babyhood and into infancy. With each passing milestone (weight gain, smiles, coos, sleeping), there is this strange dichotomy of great joy and celebration coupled with grief. You are becoming a baby (yay!) but leaving behind your newborn days (boo!) It is disarming, this motherhood. I find myself longing, pining for days in which you sleep through the night or take less time to nurse. But when you do accomplish some new feat, I find myself oddly saddened by the loss of your youth. After all, you are my last baby and this is my last time to go through these delightful/hard/crazy/amazing phases. Sigh.

photo by the amazing Becky Fisher photography

Much of your short life has been shaped by the overwhelming stress of not gaining weight. For whatever reason, you don't gain as necessary just breastfeeding. This is my first time experiencing this, and it's really, really hard. It consumes my thoughts and my days. The emotional toll is exhausting, constantly watching the clock, watching the ounces, wondering if you're satisfied. The physical toll is beyond exhausting. I'm nursing and pumping around the clock. My body and my spirit are tired. I realize just how good I had it with Maddie and Sam, who though they had their own issues, weight gain was never one of them. And as silly as it sounds, I have to gospel myself through it all. I'm still a good mom if my baby doesn't gain weight. I'm still a good mom if I supplement with formula. I'm still a good mom if I can't keep up with the feedings. It's crazy the amount of pressure I put on myself.

 But then there's the joy. Oh, the joy.  Seeing your first smile. Hearing your first coo. Witnessing your first laugh as you giggled at your sister's high-pitched, affectionate tone. Drinking it all in. You, sweet boy, are mine, and how oh how I love you. There aren't enough words in the world, no adjectives to describe the tenderness and ferocity of my love for you. Here you are, just two months' new on this earth, and I would do anything for you.

Motherhood is a sleepless, thankless, overwhelming, yet heart-filling job. It brings me the greatest, most amazing joy yet drains the life right from me. It's like pregnancy never ends, and I pour and pour and pour my deepest, greatest, weightiest resources into you each and every day. The rewards are intangible: moments treasured deep in my heart, love that encompasses my chest and threatens to overtake my body, midnight snuggles and midday laughs. 

At two months, you have blue eyes. Big blues. We wonder if they'll stick around. Your dark hair is receding on top and coming in lighter underneath. You have long eyelashes. When you smile, it works its way vertically down your sweet little face. First, your eyes twinkle and light up, then your nose starts to crinkle, and lastly, the corners of your lips lift up in the most beautiful, tear-inducing smile. It never fails to delight me. :)

We've noticed your hand movement is more intentional, though far from perfect. You will throw an arm up while nursing, resting your outstretched hand on my chest. At night you reach for me with long arms and flailing fingers, inching your body closer and closer until at last you are nestled against me.

At many points in the past month I've tried to move you into the co-sleeper. And darn it, every time you happen to experience some weird reflux or crying fit. I can't just leave you there. I swipe you up into my arms and rescue you, bringing you back to the bed to snuggle in the crook of my arm or on my chest. For now, it's where you're most content. And it seems to work well. At seven weeks, you  were sleeping 7-hour stretches. You've maintained a pretty good record of 5-7 hour stretches until last night, when your first cold had you congested, and mad, mad, mad. Poor little guy.

And let's not forget to mention that you have found your voice. Your sweet, cooing, oohing, ah-gooing little voice that fills up the room and fills up my heart. Sometimes it's as if you are singing your own little song, in your own little world, and it sounds like heaven. Your Daddy seems to elicit the longest, loudest songs and it makes him very happy.

Evan Michael, we can't imagine our lives without you! It's been only about a year since you were conceived, yet it's unimaginable to think of life without you. You've definitely completed our little family. We're so glad you are here.

Love,

Mama