Dear Ingrid,

Today you are two months old. As I start this, you are napping in your crib upstairs, which is where you do most of your sleeping these days.  You slept curled up to me for your first six weeks or so, and one night, when I laid you in your crib to get myself ready for bed, you didn’t stir, so I waited to see what would happen. You slept like a rock while your daddy and I strained to hear your breath on the monitor.  Since that first night, we’ve realized that the monitor is really overkill when your just 5 steps away, and we can hear ourSELVES on the damn thing.  Even with fans running in each room, I can hear what’s going on in your room. The other night after a midnight nursing, I laid you back down and went back to bed, and could hear you cooing at something, and you let out a great squeal of delight, cooed some more and went back to sleep.

This month, you went from random smiles (not followed by gas) to more deliberate smiles, to smiling with purpose. When Daddy comes home for lunch, and again at the end of the day, no matter what, you give him a giant open-mouth toothless grin.  You might get cranky soon after, but your daddy never fails to make you beam.

In your second month, you had your first long car trip, to visit with Grammy and Grampy at the lake.  You did so well, content in your new carseat, you only got fussy once, and that was conveniently at a rest area where I couold feed you.  You adapted well to the new surroundings and hordes of people that wanted to see you; at the 4th of July parade, you were the star of the show, with people who’d known me as a baby thrilled to see another generation walking across the oiled wood floors of the town store.

In honor of your two month birthday, we’ve added another layer to our day, by starting morning walks in addition to afternoon walks.  You are so content when out and about, whether it’s in your sling or stroller, you love to take in what’s going on around you (and in both forms of transport, you often fall asleep.)  Today we walked on the route I used to walk before you were born, before you were even conceived, the route that reminded me why we chose this house in this neighborhood.  I can’t wait until you are big enough to dangle in the swings, or take that first trip down the twirly slide, or waddle into the pool for the first time.  For now, we glide by all those things.

Your day is pretty mellow, we get up and you enjoy your mobile from your crib while I shower. There’s some nursing, some napping, maybe some laundry or dishes before Daddy comes home at lunch. After lunch, we usually hit the town to do one thing or another — pick up some necessity at Target, or go to the library, or visit with friends.  When Daddy comes home, you are thrilled (and so am I) and sometimes you have a fussy hour (and so do I) and your daddy is great at handling both of us in those times.  You sleep in your crib, stretched out in all directions, and when you’re hungry, I nurse you in the glider overlooking the backyard.  You fall asleep there, on my chest, and putting you down is easier for you than for me.

And sometimes, like last night, I just get out of bed and lean over your crib, watching you breathe, your long eyelashes resting on your cheeks — so fleshed out now, and clear of any heatrash or acne you once had — and am amazed at how rapidly you are growing.  I sometimes think I can see the future you in flashes at times, and I am already catching remembrances of the past you in fleeting moments — when your eyes wobble crossed for just a moment, or when you wake up and look around figuring out where you are.

As I finish this, you are asleep in your bouncy seat, with the toes of one foot spread wide.  I can hardly believe it’s been two months already, and that those toes continue to grip my heart with a ferocity I never knew before.

Love, Mama

Dear Ms Ingrid,

Today you are one whole month old. You’ve now seen every number day there is, because you were born in May, which is an ‘all the rest’ month. I’ll explain when you’re older.  You have gone from a googly-eyed, wrinkly-toed, head-antennaed newborn to a (sometimes) googly-eyed, red-faced, smelly-necked one month old. I canhardly believe it!

There are things I forgot to tell you about your birthday, like how Auntie Em had more barbecue chips than you would even IMAGINE in one of those snack size bags, because she kept eating them between helping me push,and I just could not believe that the bag wasn’t empty yet, goddammit, or about how your grammie and grampie were waiting at a hotel all day to hear when you arrived (when they weren’t eating in the hospital cafetariea, "just in case.") or how after everyone left that night, your dad I just stared at you for as long as we could, taking it all in.

In those first days, you balled up just like you’d been insideme, and your outside movements made the weird inside movements I’d been feeling make sense. You’dmarch in place, just like you did inside me, and you still do. You are amazingly strong, those marching legs now propel you up my chest when you’re really angry, you push yourself into a downward dog position and inchworm your way up, sometimes using my navel as a foothold.  You’ve turned over from belly to back a few times for your Dad, mostly motivated by severe irritation at the concept of "tummy time."

When you get angry, you start by windmilling your limbs, and opening your mouth and turning bright red,but it takes you a good minute or two to really let fly with the crying. In that minute, you just vibrate with energy. When you sneeze, it’s usually four in succession, and you used to punchyourself in the face with each one, but that’s gotten better as you’ve gained more control of your arms. Your hands are often curled up into fists, with your thumb peeking out form your index finger, which is the ASL sign for the letter "T." The heat of early summer has given you a rash from the top of your head to your chest, basically, and while it pains us to look at it, you don’t seem too bothered. We’ve also learned that broccoli makes you throw up, and that you don’t like to be gassy.

You can see your fishies on your swing as they spin around, your head tracks their movement and you seem mystified that as one disappearsout of your range of vision, another one appears.  In the last week or so, though, you’ve suddenly started looking at
us.Not at the high contrast of our heads against a light background, but
really LOOKING at us.  You seem to even know when we’re coming near; when you start to cry, you pause when you hear us on our way to comfort you.

You make use laugh, more than anything else, even when its cranky o’clock.  In addition to seeing us, you’ve even started to smile, real smiles, not gas or flukey smiles. We can’t get you to smile on command, which is almost better, because those drive-by grins are such a surprise, every time they happen, and we adore every one of them.

The other night, we were all in bed, and you and your daddy were asleep, when you startled yourself awake, yelped, and flailed your arms wildly, trying to regain your senses. I reached out my hand and you grabbed it, relaxed your head to ths side and dropped back to sleep, your tiny little long-fingered hand pressed hard against my own. It’s moments like that that make me realize what it means to be your mother, to be able to quiet a bad dream by being there to hold on to.  The bad dreams will get bigger and badder as you get older, and my hand will eventually cease to be the source of comfort it was that night, but I’ll always be reaching out to you to try to make it better.

Love, Mama