Dear Zoë,
I'm not downstairs at the table with a glass of wine and a plate of turkey. I'm upstairs listening to the laughter and conversation with you in my lap. You didn't sleep well this afternoon, and needed to go to bed earlier than I expected. I just wanted to let you know that I'd so glad you chose me for comfort. I'm so happy to snuggle you in my arms. This is quite possibly the only Thanksgiving I'll ever miss, but it's your first, and since you're what I'm most thankful for today, it's perfect. Your fleecy pjs soft on my fingers and your little hands reaching up to my face. Perfect. Thank you.
Love, Mom
Thursday, November 22, 2012
Friday, June 1, 2012
Eleven
Dear Zoë,
Trust me, your new teeth hurt me as much as they hurt you, sweetheart. So howzabout you stop chomping down on me long enough for me to go grab your Tylenol. Let's not argue with the lady in charge of the drugs, yaknowwaddamean?
Love, Mom
Trust me, your new teeth hurt me as much as they hurt you, sweetheart. So howzabout you stop chomping down on me long enough for me to go grab your Tylenol. Let's not argue with the lady in charge of the drugs, yaknowwaddamean?
Love, Mom
Thursday, May 24, 2012
Ten
Dear Zoë,
Sometimes, when we're sitting in the chair in your room, and the sunlight dances across your tiny face and plays little games in your eyes, I swear I'm dreaming. How can I be so lucky?
Love, Mom
Sometimes, when we're sitting in the chair in your room, and the sunlight dances across your tiny face and plays little games in your eyes, I swear I'm dreaming. How can I be so lucky?
Love, Mom
Friday, April 6, 2012
Nine
Dear Zoë,
I don't get very much done when you're around. You won't let anyone else hold you, even your dad, and even when you do, you completely freak out if I walk more than about a foot away. You won't let me do dishes, you hate when I try to fold laundry, and you don't think I have to sit down to eat. My patience is wearing. My left arm is getting Schwarzenegger-buff, and my back will likely never be the same again.
But so long as you're sitting squarely on my hip with my left arm around your waist and a little bounce in my step, you'll brave the world. Your blue eyes open wide like little saucers, and you'll decide what is and is not worthy of your whole body-encompassing smile. Like you're a tiny Godfather in a pink dress, and we're all just doing your bidding.
And when I do need to put you down to use the restroom or eat a bite of sandwich, or if I need to chug painkillers for my back or reinforce my left arm's strength with WWE-grade steroids, you scream your brains out like an extra in a Friday the 13th sequel.
But I just try to take a deep breath and pick you back up, kissing your soft little head and focusing on how much I'll miss this someday. Because when you're too big to pick up, and when your problems are too big to be solved by my arms, I'll remember this day without the blood-curdling soundtrack. I'll block out the image of the piles of dishes and unfinished projects lying in our wake. It will just be blurry edges and you and me, dancing to invisible music in our living room.
And please forgive me when I try to scoop you up in my arms to dry your tears at age 12. I'll try not to do it in public.
Love, Mom
I don't get very much done when you're around. You won't let anyone else hold you, even your dad, and even when you do, you completely freak out if I walk more than about a foot away. You won't let me do dishes, you hate when I try to fold laundry, and you don't think I have to sit down to eat. My patience is wearing. My left arm is getting Schwarzenegger-buff, and my back will likely never be the same again.
But so long as you're sitting squarely on my hip with my left arm around your waist and a little bounce in my step, you'll brave the world. Your blue eyes open wide like little saucers, and you'll decide what is and is not worthy of your whole body-encompassing smile. Like you're a tiny Godfather in a pink dress, and we're all just doing your bidding.
And when I do need to put you down to use the restroom or eat a bite of sandwich, or if I need to chug painkillers for my back or reinforce my left arm's strength with WWE-grade steroids, you scream your brains out like an extra in a Friday the 13th sequel.
But I just try to take a deep breath and pick you back up, kissing your soft little head and focusing on how much I'll miss this someday. Because when you're too big to pick up, and when your problems are too big to be solved by my arms, I'll remember this day without the blood-curdling soundtrack. I'll block out the image of the piles of dishes and unfinished projects lying in our wake. It will just be blurry edges and you and me, dancing to invisible music in our living room.
And please forgive me when I try to scoop you up in my arms to dry your tears at age 12. I'll try not to do it in public.
Love, Mom
Thursday, April 5, 2012
Eight
Dear Zoë,
Sorry I haven't been writing for a few days, but I'm on Spring Break and I'd rather be staring at you than thinking of something clever to say.
Love, Mom
Sorry I haven't been writing for a few days, but I'm on Spring Break and I'd rather be staring at you than thinking of something clever to say.
Love, Mom
Sunday, March 25, 2012
Seven
Dear Zoë
SERIOUSLY. I'm not a walking pacifier. I'm a person. A person with lots of laundry to do.
Kthx, mom
SERIOUSLY. I'm not a walking pacifier. I'm a person. A person with lots of laundry to do.
Kthx, mom
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Six
Dear Zoë,
Sleeping on the couch sitting up really isn't terribly comfortable. Maybe you could consider the possibility of not using me as a human pacifier so that I can sleep horizontally for at least a few hours. I promise, I'll be a nicer person in the morning.
Love, Mom
Sleeping on the couch sitting up really isn't terribly comfortable. Maybe you could consider the possibility of not using me as a human pacifier so that I can sleep horizontally for at least a few hours. I promise, I'll be a nicer person in the morning.
Love, Mom
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