Dear Baby Fraggle,
Except you're not a baby anymore.
When I was pregnant with the Warner Brother, another mom told me that when she left for the hospital in labour with her second child she had a little toddler at home. But when she returned home with a new infant she had a giant child waiting for her. In those few hours her baby had become a life-sized person.
This is what you are, my darling. A person, the size of life.
You have big finger-paint handprints and a big grownup head that you squeeze through a 3T shirt hole all by yourself. You tell jokes. "I am going to... put DoDo Cat in the toilet! Nooo!" You play. "Ine just tryin to be funny!" You run away from a Mama Monster. You hide and seek (mostly hide and then reveal yourself shortly thereafter.)
You elaborate. "When, when, when it's Friday? When it's Friday, I stay home and watch *whispers* Peppa Pig and I can have branna cake and when it gets womma out we can, we can play with my water table. You remember my water table Mama? And we can put bubbles wit soap in dare."
You sing full songs with perfect pitch. "Down by the bay. Where the watermelons grow. Back to my home. I dare not go. For if I do. My Fraggle would say. Have you ever seen a ducky, driving a fucky? Down by the bay!"
You help. With everything. "Can I HELP?" Laundry, dishes, dinner, washing the cupboards, washing the table, and now bathing and changing the Baby Brother. You totally understand his existence. You know that he was in my belly, but now he came out ("You push him out yike dis uhhhh and now you can bend over and put my boots on.") You know Baby Brother is crying because he can't talk. And he sleeps a lot. And baby brothers will poop, and baby brothers will cry, "and you better watch out or he pee in your eye!" And he loves you; you know he loves you.
And my darling, when I was in labour - major active labour - waiting in the car to drive you to daycare, you were so patient and calm. You were quiet, but not too scared. You just wanted to finish your breakfast, but there wasn't time. You knew what was happening. You are so smart my dear, so clever, so understanding.
You are such a lovely person. I am so proud of who you are. I sincerely adore spending time with you. You are a joy. You are my joy.
I miss you so much right now, two weeks into newborndom. I am pulled toward two little beings for whom I have unimaginable, aching, heartbreaking, all-powerful, knee-weakening love. Two beings that I want to be with, want to be for, every single moment of every single day. But life doesn't work that way, does it? As I'm always telling you, sometimes we can't have what we want. And that fact makes me want to scream like you do when things don't go the right way.
I wanted you both so much. I wanted this big, full family that I didn't have when I was small. Now I have you, but I can't quite have enough. I sit here with tears down my face because I am in so much love and there just isn't enough of me.
Wait for me, my lovely. I will come back. I will always, always, do everything I can to be there for you, even when it isn't enough. Ultimately, we will all be here, all four of us, together in this life. I love you my baby. My favourite little girl.