Newsletter, Miles

Month 3, Version 2.0

Dear Miles,

Listen, we need to have a little heart-to-heart.  Your crying is becoming a little bit of an issue over here.  I myself am quite used to it and have no problem tuning it out.  Your Father on the other hand is ready to leave you on the street corner.  You really need to tone it down a bit because you’re killing my chances of ever having another kid.  I’m not saying that I absolutely do but I like to know I have the option and with each little crying outburst you have, you’re killing my chances slowly.  It’s rather a good thing that you’re my second child because this crying with Olivia would have had me running for the hills.  I used to be so paranoid about Liv making any kind of noise when we were out in public that I just about had every emergency exit planned before I even stepped foot in to a store.  I don’t know what it is about having a second child but suddenly you’re an old pro and can handle any baby catastrophe with your eyes closed and a hand tied behind your back. 

You cry no matter the situation and always when I’m grocery shopping.  Since I now grocery shop with two of you, Liv sits in the cart and I have you in the Baby Bjorn carrier.  All was going smoothly at last week’s shopping excursion until you spit up down the front of me in the middle of produce.  No problem, I used an extra pair of Olivia’s underwear, which I always carry in my purse, to wipe up the remnants of your breakfast before it went down my shirt.  Then it was like the hells opened up below and you bellowed your dissatisfaction with life with a horrendous scream.  The fine people of San Ramon stopped dead in their tracks and trembled at the knees with the horrible skrieking that was occuring near the radishes.  It’s always easy to spot the children haters in a public setting when a baby starts crying.  You would think it would cause them to move faster but it in fact has the opposite effect.  The sound of a crying child actually paralyzes them.  They stand in front of you with a blank stare in their eyes with the inability to move their legs.  I did a lot of bobbing and weaving that morning as it appeared nobody could get out of our way fast enough.  I had barely started grocery shopping so of course I still had the entire store to go through.  So there we are – we’re walking through the store, you’re screaming your head off while in the carrier and your sister decides to announce to the world with every horrific scream, “BABY CRY!”  We’re manuevering around all the baby-haters who are paralyzed with fear and I can’t seem to find a decent package of bacon that isn’t all fat.  We reached the pinnacle when I got stuck behind some lady at the meat counter who insisted on buying a bushel of chicken.  At this point, I have a good 4 feet of space around me as people are tring to keep their distance from the head spinning, screaming devil boy.  I’m trying to place my order but they can’t hear you so I take my hands push you down and smother you for a moment so I can mouth the words “BACON, I NEED BACON!”  We make it out of the store.  No fewer than a dozen steps past the exit, you release the fury in your bowels and no sooner than we reach the car, you fall asleep.  Now, this little episode, had it happened with Olivia when she was your age would have had me crying in the candy aisle with the crippling fear of ever entering the public with her again. I pride myself in knowing I handled the situation somewhat well – I got everything on my list, no children were left behind and no innocent bystanders were ran over.  Although there was a glaring old lady who deserved a cart wheel over her arthritic loafers.

I had the wonderful pleasure of taking you and your sister with me to have warts removed from the bottom of my feet – lovely.  You were sound asleep in your car seat until you heard the door to the doctor’s office open.  Your eyes opened up like a chucky doll and no sooner did you decide to dump a load in the waiting room.  At this point, my doctor is running 20 minutes late and the sweet smell of your bowels is starting to fill up the room.  We make it in to the exam room and the second I put your car seat down, you start screaming.  I pick you up and realize that I’m going to be holding you while I have this wonderfully procedure done on me.  To add a cherry on top, your sister decides to experiment with the foot controls on my exam chair.  I’m going up and down, you’re screaming and I’m having whole sections of my foot removed.  I think all I was missing was an enema and I would have had myself a party.

You’re definitely more of a high maintenance child.  I still can’t have dairy, you cry if I’m not in the immediate vicinity (i.e. next to you), you startle yourself with the slightest motion you make and you need to hold my finger if I’m next to you.  You cry constantly unless you’re held in a very specific position pointing outwards and hanging off my hip.  I would say that you bring out the best in your Father and I but that would be a total lie.  I’m good – I’ve accepted the fact my life is a little bit of a train wreck right now surrounded by constant screaming and whining but your high maintenance is hereditary and you have a direct lifeline to your Father.  Both of you in constant need for something is bound to step on some toes and your Father is having a little bit of a difficult time adjusting to his toes being constantly smashed. 

Your first Christmas Eve was spent in a hospital and it was such a horrible experience that I would rather not remember it by telling it here and rather let it disappear along with my sanity.  You really are an adorable child with your swollen red eyes from crying all day.  You stare at me with such an intensity with your hands held together on your chest.  You understand that I get you – you’re a 3 month old who is miserable and wants nothing more than to go back to sleep in my uterus and be one with your thoughts without having your sister put a sticker on your face or a stamp on your forehead.  I can handle all this if you can ease up a bit with the crying and work on controlling your movements because I’m getting a little tired of the head-butting.

You are a ridiculously whiny child but you have got to be one of the cutest newborns I have ever seen.  Most newborns look questionable, even your sister.  It’s really not until around 6 months that babies start to look somewhat normal.  You on the other hand were perfect from day 1.  I could seriously look at you without squinting. You can kick yourself right out of your bouncy chair and you have a tremendous ability to launch a pacifier clear out of your crib.  Your giggles are incredible and have the ability to erase a horrible day.  The most important thing and this is really the it factor of why you’re a keeper – you go down every night without fuss and allow me to take a bubble bath.  I don’t care how many times you vomit on me, the number of hours you cry, or the amount of dairy missing in my diet.  As long as I have my bubble bath, we are good.  You screw this up and we’re thru, capiche? 

Love,

Momma

 

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