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My 3-month-old, version 2.0 July 27, 2010

Posted by Erin F. Wasinger in Letters to Violet.

Dear Violet,

Not to constantly compare you to your sister, but compared to your sister at this stage in her life, life with you is like fumbling through a dense forest and wandering right into a marshmallow bush. Sweet, unexpected, delicious, a bit impossible to believe. With your sister, it was more like stumbling through a thicket patch and stumbling on a poison ivy patch a mile wide. Uncomfortable, unfortunate. Itchy.

You’re like a Real Baby: You cry when you’re hungry, you laugh when you see me or your sister or your dad; you snuggle on our chests and sleep while we watch PBS. Chubby rolls on your arms and legs are almost impossible not to constantly pinch; your smooth skin makes me weep over my old-lady exterior. Johnson’s lies; no lotion will ever transform my skin to replicate how feather soft yours is. Life is unfair.

You coo, you speak to Alice and I when we hover over your little flailing arms and legs on the blanket in the living room. Every night from 9 to 10:30 I hold you in the crook of my arm and alternately read and watch you sleep, staring at the little purple veins in your eyes and how your dark hair sticks to your sweaty head. Sounds creepy, but I think as you get older and start going to bed earlier, I’ll miss being pinned under a sleeping baby, as I say. It’s my excuse not to take out trash or fold laundry: It’s Violet’s time with Mama.

Plus I’ve read some really great books, so. There’s a personal satisfaction to this whole tradition, too. It’s Mama’s time with Mama.

But, confession: Remember all that whining and crying I did before I put the shackles of the working world back around my ankles? All that carrying on, never-see-my-babies stuff? Well. If I stumbled on a winning lottery ticket tomorrow I’d yelp in joy at getting the freedom of choice back, but I might not walk away from work completely. Might.

That “might” comes easily because I know I will never, ever be in that position — my lottery tickets tend to be more in the $0 to $2 range on the winning scale. But also because I feel like I have a balance, however precarious it is, with my temporary Mondays free and my four full days at work. I’m not thinking about the five-day weeks coming up, or the money I’m missing by only working four days a week — I just think I’ll never regret not working more now. I would regret not being here with you.

We sat outside on the deck today — Mama Mondays — and your sister pointed out airplanes over our heads, bound for AirVenture, and I plopped your chubby legs into the Exersaucer and you grabbed for the buttons that turn on the music. One: WHY must every toy play tinny versions of Bach and Beethoven? WHY. I DEMAND TO KNOW WHO THOUGHT THAT WAS A GOOD IDEA. And, two: I didn’t know you had the dexterity to do anything but flop around in the Exersaucer’s seat. I gasped and snapped a dozen photos as proof that it’s all going to be over so fast.

Thrilling and sad, all at once.





1. Karen - July 27, 2010

Awesome letter and pictures! Can’t wait to see the girls when your mom gets to kidnap them in August!

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