Four months

Dear Mallory,

Another month has come and gone, and although this letter marks you being just four months old, this is my (gasp!) sixth month off work already. Which means that in a little more than six months, it will be time to go back. The thought of that, right now at least, is unbearable. I am constantly reminding myself to enjoy the here and now rather than worry about what will come – but it’s hard. Really hard. Give me a good swift kick the next time you catch me doing that, OK? This month you really blossomed into Cute Babydom. Everyone thinks their babies are cute as newborns, but it’s only after they hit the three or four month mark that they can see the newborn stage for what it really is: a time of scrawny limbs and blotchy red skin and eyes scrunched shut, and care being provided as a one-way street, without much interaction in return. Now, though, you are roly-poly and bright-eyed, keen to be a part of our family, giving us a glimpse of who you will be. You are only four months old, but in many respects you seem much older. You can sit up on your own for short periods of time if your hands are there to provide balance. You enjoy your bath so much now that it looks like you’re trying to do the backstroke in there. You watch us eat with eyes that beg to be included; I don’t know that I can hold you off solids for another two months, you make me feel so guilty. Maybe because you seem so old (you weigh xx pounds and are xx inches long), I can be a little blithe with you. This week we took your inaugural trip to Storybook Gardens, and I lathered you up in sunscreen for the day. I know this is a couple of months early, but your skin isn't sensitive and I wasn't always able to keep you out of the sun - I figured better that than a burn. And you're still alive! Experiment successful.When Liam is off at Cindy’s house, or visiting with Gramma and Grampa, you look a little forlorn, as if the subdued level of activity at our house is, well, just a titch too boring for your liking: where on earth can that funny little dude be? In fact, Liam’s presence, or the lack thereof, played a major role in one thing this month. Mal, I love you in a million different ways, but this is NOT one of them: you have got to be the world’s worst sleeper. You take hours to settle down at night, and you are back up every couple of hours all night long. STILL. Finally this month, I thought I had figured out that trying to get you to sleep within earshot of Liam was futile, and so I started squirreling you away to soothe you to sleep; and it worked… for a few days. For about a week you went to bed at 8 p.m. rather than 11 p.m… and then you started staying up again. Often you appear to be going to bed around 7 or 8, but then you are up again a half hour later – it was just a nap, and you’re raring to go for a few more hours. To make matters worse, you have now started waking up crying, having rolled onto your belly but not being able (or willing) to get yourself flipped back over. Arrrrrrrgh. I don’t know how much longer I can go on like this. I have an exam coming up next week, and I thought that by the time I had to write it, you’d be sleeping a 12-hour stretch through the night, leaving me plenty of time to prepare. Instead, I have to drag myself out of bed in the mornings, waste my afternoons napping while you and Liam do too just so I can function for the rest of the day, and then as often as not, I don’t get any work done at night either, because I spend several hours trying to get you to bed. I’m telling you, if I don’t pass this course and finish my degree… you will be hearing about it for years to come!! This month you developed a hilarious (though initially alarming) fake choking noise that you do on purpose to get attention. (And in typical mother-of-two fashion, it makes me feel guilty that you are not getting enough!!) You seem to have suddenly lost the bouffant hairdo you’ve sported for the past few months. You laugh out loud, not a little giggle but a deep-down-in-your-belly laugh that makes me think you are going to be one fun-loving little girl. This month we started you out in the Jolly Jumper, and you could do a commercial for them: that height! That smile on your face when you’re in it! Last week we spent our summer vacation camping at Algonquin, and you seemed to really enjoy yourself, though of course you slept terribly and probably woke up half the campground on numerous occasions. You surprised me with how well you took the 5-hour trip each way, though the use of a binky for the first time on the drive up helped us get through the last half hour. You also took the opportunity last week to go on a nine-day-long pooping strike. At first this was funny, then puzzling, and I was on the brink of being alarmed when, well, you pooped. And all appears well again. One night in July, shortly after we’d succeeded (albeit briefly) in getting you onto an 8 o’clock bedtime regimen, you stayed up past 10 again. Your dad and I were totally vexed, having hoped to get some schoolwork done (me) and some rest (him). But in true Mallory style, you weren’t fussy or irritable the entire 2+ hours we spent trying to get you into your crib. You were chatty and laughing and full of coos. Finally I moved into the rocking chair in the near-dark, with your warm, round little baby head pressed up against my cheek, and the smell of your shampoo all around me. The sound of your sweet little unmistakably-baby-girl voice babbling to me in the dark – well, it made that entire two hours so much more than worthwhile. That was exactly the sort of thing that memory becomes.

Love,

Mom