Hello again my dear. I wrote to you a few weeks ago, and here I am again because I have some new thoughts I want to share.
You will be nine weeks old this Monday. NINE WEEKS. I don't have a friggin clue how that happened, but here we are.
The first couple weeks with you were an impossible gong show. The following four were pretty good - life abounded with small victories and I regained a small semblance of sanity. You learned so many neat things...
You grabbed stuff - like really reached out and GRABBED it - and then you pulled. Hard.
You started standing. Ok, not standing, per se, but extending your legs and pushing off while we held you up. Your little head and neck got so strong. Hubby and I predict that you won't really crawl, rather you'll start walking around holding onto our fingers. Mark our words.
And the piéce de la resistance: SMILES. You, my sweet little koalacorn, learned to smile. You do it all the time. You grin when you wake up and I lean over your bed. You grin when I change your diaper in the front window sill. You grin. At me. And then I melt.
Then the six-week mark hit. One day I was saying to people "Nah, she never really cries..." And all of a sudden, well, you cried. It's like you just learned how and you simply had to show off your new skill. Huh. What a novel idea Mom. If I cry you'll notice me? COOL.
And so it went, you crying (and probably spurtishly growing) for 10 days straight. Hubby and I thought we'd go crazy. I mean, you were still cute as all-get-out, but holy hell girlie.
Here's the good part though. After your 6 week vampire conversion, you were the sweetest little angel. Your dad and I were over the moon having our lovely little darling back again.
For three days. Three days you were a perfect little doll. By the fourth day you made a pretty big life decision. No more naps, you said to me one day, and then you cried and cried and cried all the livelong day.
Now. Here is some advice for you my sweet:
When you are old like me, you will adore, nay, RELISH, any single solitary chance to NAP. You may nap on a bench in the sun during your lunch break. You may nap at your desk in the afternoon, with your hand on your mouse so your colleagues think you're working. You may nap at a friend's house. You may nap on the bus. You may nap on a couch, on a pool floatie, on a lawn chair at Home Depot.
When you are old like me, you will not only wish you had more time to nap, but you will wish you capitalized every previous napping opportunity as the precious gift that it is because naps are cumulative, and priceless. So nap now, my sweet. Enjoy it while you can.
I love you Fraggle,
PS Please nap.