Two Months

Well little man, it’s been two months. They have gone pretty quickly—and yet it seems like ages ago that I was in labor, that I was holding you in my arms for the first time. But, as they say, the days are long, and the years are short. Perhaps because you look back at the years.

I feel like we are really beginning to get to know each other. I think you like me okay because you will almost always smile when you see me (which warms my heart and reassures me that I’m not too bad a mother). You smile a lot now. And coo. And goo. And laugh—not a big belly laugh, but a small, amused giggle. You are extremely cute. Your sister and I often sit and look at you and imitate your noises and facial expressions just to keep you from stopping. We’re pretty fond of you, you know.

You’re also an extremely easy baby. You’re very good-natured, as evidenced by your tolerance for your older sister. She has come pretty close to seriously injuring you on multiple occasions, yet you’re pretty chill about it. You even seem to like her. Sleep (which was quite an issue with said sister) has not been a big deal for you. You go to sleep on your own and take four square naps a day. And while you fight sleep at bedtime (you sometimes take an hour or an hour and a half to drift off, leaving me shushing and patting and walking until well past my bedtime), you are (I hesitate to even say it, for fear that it might end) SLEEPING THROUGH THE NIGHT. You’ve been waking up only once a night for a while now, but last Wednesday night you slept 7 blessed hours. Since then you've been routinely sleeping between 7 and 9 hours a night. It is glorious. I greatly appreciate it.

I think you look like your sister. And you’re chubby. Big-boneded. I love it. Your legs have lots of creases and it’s adorable. You are now 15 pounds, which means you’ve gained 6 POUNDS in two months. You are wearing 3-6 month clothing. You don't look huge, just much bigger than your age. It makes me a little sad, but I love seeing you grow and change. It’s bittersweet. As motherhood often is.

Love you, little man. So blessed have you with us.

And Too Cool...

...in sixty years:

Too Cool...

...fo' school.

Heartbreaker

Dearest Ava,

You're crazy. No, I mean it. Nuts. Nuts can be fun, but it can also be exhausting. Just ask your Daddy. He's an expert in nuts. He's been married to me for almost six years, hasn't he?

But back to you. You've hit the ground running on this "terrible two" thing. It seems that someone flipped a switch on your second birthday. Oh, you're really not all that terrible. You are still very sweet, extremely exhuberant, and utterly hilarious. But you are crazy, with a generous helping of defiant.

Take Saturday, for example. You began the day by opening the lid of my insulated mug and dumping its contents directly onto the couch. You continued by bailing out the tub in the upstairs bathroom while I dressed your brother, flooding the bathroom and the kitchen below. You pulled my make-up bag off of the bathroom counter while I put your brother down for his nap, covering your shorts in eye shadow. (I knew you were being too quiet). You got to watch Dora the Explorer while my nerves unwound (and while I mopped up the puddle that was the kitchen). You had a banner day.

Perhaps the fact that you succeeded in doing all this means that I am a failure as a mother. Perhaps it is just that your second birthday almost coincided with the birth of your brother, and I am distracted. Perhaps a bit of both. We'll get the hang of it, hopefully.

But I don't want you to think that being your mama is all frustration. Far from it. It's mostly joy and laughter and fun. I love seeing the world through your eyes. I love to watch the joy on your face as you blow dandelion seeds into the wind and to hear your delighted squeal when helicopter seeds fall from our silver maple. I love to watch you make friends; it comes easily to you. I love your spontaneous kisses and hugs. I love to see you give them to your brother. In short, I love being your mama.

So, on days like Saturday, I pray that I model the gospel for you. I pray that, in me, you know a love that guides and forgives, that sacrifices and perseveres. Because the great truth is, I need that kind of redeeming love as much as you. I'm really just a rebellious child at heart (though I suppose I'm more sophisticated about it). In reality, I make just as big a mess of things. So, my dear, I pray that I will show you the kind of love I have received. May God grant me the grace to parent you well and point you to a greater Love than even I can provide.

I love you so much, my sweet, sweet girl. You're a gift.

Mama

When in Rome...

...wear Bears memorabilia.

Oh, and notice that cute little grin. :)

Kids

Ava was all smiles last night. She climbed up on the ottoman next to Timmy, giggling every time he cooed or flailed. She needed to go to bed (badly), but I hated to break up the sibling love.


She even gave Brother a kiss:

I think the verdict is that they like each other. At least until they are teenagers.

I hope at least until they are teenagers.

Strong

He's holding his head up so well!

Bedhead

I think I know why it's called "nappy hair."