Dear Elsa: a letter at two months


You are two months old! Already! And it is mostly unbelievable that you used to be inside of me. Day by day, bits of your newbornness are slipping away. Where once there were skinny chicken legs, there are now rolls. In the past two months, you have gained just under 4 pounds (11 lb., 6 oz.), grown 2 inches (23″), and more and more you is starting to emerge.

elsa-twomonthYour big blue eyes are open much more, taking in the world. You love to look at the toy birds hanging from our dining room light fixutre; you stare calmly out the kitchen window at the dark silouhettes of tree branches against the sky during your baths. You turn your round cheeks (and triple chin!) towards us when we talk to you, and Owen…you are starting to be aware that there is an Owen in your life. You give him some of your biggest smiles, as he leans in towards  (and often on) you, making various animal noises trying to get you to, “Mile, ellSA!”

You are at your most smily in the morning. Your smiles are subtle, usually starting with one side of upturned lips before breaking into a full, turning up the corners of your beautiful eyes. You’ve begun to talk in coos and in squawks, and you and I have these great conversations as you lean back against my knees, staring intently at my eyes, telling me all of the things. You’ve toyed with the idea of laughing…and have actually giggled a couple of times in your sleep which is probably the most adorable thing ever to have happened.

You are such a happy baby. You put yourself to sleep, and in just your fifth week of life, you started sleeping through the night…and have continued to do so most nights (only waking up once on the  “offf” nights). We will happily ride this train as long as it lasts. Because you cry so rarely, it’s kind of tragic when you do. You actually make a sad face as you work your way into a solid wail. It is pitiful. Mournful almost. And I immediately want to do whatever possible to end your sadness.

Just a couple of weeks ago, I had you in the bath with Owen. I was bent over the side of the tub, cradling you with my arm, as you floated happily in all that water. You love your baths, you really do. Owen was alternating between studying your little toes and sharing the bath toys with you, saying, “I share” just seconds before taking the toy back and informing us, “Owen’s turn.” You were loving it. I reached over to turn on the water, to start wiping down your face, when suddenly the shower pelted the both of us with cold water. Owen had pulled up the part to make the water come out of the shower head when I wasn’t looking…and as the water arced over him and landed on us, and you immediately started crying, I thought that he couldn’t have planned it better if he tried. It was hilarious and pitiful all at once.

You have grown to love the pacifier, and you are at your most content in a wrap or carrier, held close against me, which  I secretly hope you never grow out of. We are still working on getting you to drink from a bottle – it’s very clear each time that we try that you are merely putting up with this nonsense because you’re so laid back.

You have had a parade of family visiting to meet you this past month. So very many people love you, Elsa. I hope you always know that. I continue to snuggle you every chance I get, rubbing my cheek against the softness of your hair, trying to memorize the way you feel curled up against me, your breath on my collarbone, the way your head smells. I desperately want you to stay this small forever just as much as I desperately long to know who you are.

You are sweet. You are gentle. You are loved.

Your Mama!

Things you Love: the Moby wrap, pacifier, nursing, baths, the swing, your bouncy chair, sleeping on my chest or on your stomach, when anyone talks to you, being held, being swaddled, the birds hanging from the light fixture in the dining room, being naked (you wiggle the most when unclothed)

Things you Hate: being unable to burp. when I eat broccoli, having shirts taken on or off over your head, cold and windy days, laying flat on your back, being put in the car seat,


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