Letter to Oscar: Month Two

Dear Oscar,

You’re kind of an old guy now, growing and changing so fast that I want to stop time and freeze this moment and the way you are now forever.  Never again will you be so tiny and new.  I will miss your wobbly head and your crossed eyes and your tiny feet.  I will miss your newborn clothes.  Already you have outgrown most of your hats, and I’m afraid you’re going to have an enormous head like your mama.  Things change too quickly and time goes by too fast.  I think you better pick your major soon, because you need to know that by your sophomore year in college.


But, OH! the smiles…I have died and gone to baby heaven.  I really had no idea that I could love you so much.  I hate to tell you this, but you have me wrapped around your little finger.  You smile a lot now, when we place you on the changing table, when we give you a bath, and when you wake me up at 3:00 A.M. for a late-night snack.  You’ve also started blowing bubbles with your saliva, and I’m sorry, but that kind of manipulative behavior won’t be tolerated for long, I don’t care how cute it is.

Your sweet, soft hair sticks straight up now, even when we brush it down after your bath.  I’m afraid you have Mama’s hair, too.  Your eyes are still blue, and we wonder if they are going to change color.  Right now they are so big they have their own gravitational pull, like little planets, and your father and I are the moons orbiting you.

You’re talking in little coos and gurgles.  You also have this annoyed little yell, like a grumpy old man trying to summon the waitress (Hey lady, can I get some milk over hear ASAP?).  For entertainment you like to suck on your fists, punch yourself in the eye, and scan the ceiling looking for enemy planes.

I love your soft little body and feeling your warmth and your weight when you fall asleep on my chest.  I love nursing you when the sun rises and it’s just the two of us and the world is silent except for your little snuffles and swallows.  I love the little sighs you make while you sleep.

I look forward to all of the amazing changes that are coming and I mourn the time that slips away.  When I’m tired and don’t want to get out of bed to feed you or change you or rock you, I remember that a time will come when I can’t lift you anymore, so I pick you up and hold you in my arms, and keep you close for a little while longer.

 Love, Mama

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