The Facebook status updates that didn't make the cut this week...

Carter has invented a specific language for talking to his Little People farm animals. My question is: When has he had time to study Bill Cosby scat language? And how the heck did he get his hands on those old Jell-O commercials? And who let him watch the infamous Brad-Pitt-as-gypsy scene from "Snatch???"

First world problem of the Day: I'm always rewinding too far past the part of the movie I didn't hear properly.

I had the opportunity to take a shower BY MYSELF yesterday. No toddler at my feet. No baby snoozing in a bouncer outside the shower door. Needless to say, I would have been offered a walk-on spot with the California Raisins by the time I finally emerged. Jesse considered filing a Missing Persons Report. Sadie started following a duck around asking, "Are you my mother?" Yes, it was *that* long.

One child household = Trying to avoid burning yourself while gulping an entire cup of coffee in the shower.
Two child household = Trying to avoid slicing your toddler open while shaving in the shower.

One child household = Life is dominated by routine of feed, change, tummy time, spend 45 minutes trying to get baby to sleep for 20.
Two child household = Life is dominated by routine feed, change, and spending 45 minutes trying to get baby to sleep for 20 while yelling, "Don't put that in your mouth!" to your toddler over and over again.

One child household = Nap when baby naps.
Two child household = Nap while vacuuming.

And now, pictures of my kids looking cute this week:

Dear Sadie

I'm not sure how I should begin this -- my very first public letterto you. From the moment I reached down and pulled you up onto my chest, I havehad an overwhelming urge to blurt out every mistake I've ever made and everylesson I've ever learned and every hope I have for you in one great, big,terrifying run-on sentence. It’s obvious now that the most challenging aspectof being your mother will be giving you the space to make those mistakes andlearn those lessons and build those hopes on your own. Your grandmother has a talentfor giving people such space, but unfortunately for you, I am the carbon copyof your grandfather and we take the opposite approach in relationships --always hovering over the shoulder, critiquing and butting in, and knowing what's best.

I'm not sure why, but I don't feel the same urge to immerse your brother in my mistakes and lessons and hopes. Actually, I am sure why, butI'm embarrassed to admit I have such patronizingly simple ideas on gender. The truth of the matter is there is something that absolutelypetrifies me about having a daughter: That you will be just like me. The idea also kind of excites me. Being a woman is like that. 

So I don't know how I will restrain myself from trying to makeoverand simultaneously re-live my life through you over the next 18 years, butwhat I do know is this: You are a beautifuland happy person. That much has become apparent in your first month on thisearth. You smile more than any other newborn I have known, and you already havea talent for making us laugh with funny faces and noises. I am absolutelyhead-over-heels in love with you.

I once read a blog by a mother who described her first child asher heart and her second child as her soul. At the time, I thought it was kindof depressing, if only because I have always imagined having more than twochildren, and after the heart and soul -- what's left?  

But now I understand. Your brother is my heart. He always will be.He has taught me so much about love and patience and understanding andnurturing. As an infant, he was so high-maintenance. So very, veryhigh-maintenance. He still is, only now we call him "challenging." But because he is my heart -- the very beating, pulsing,fleshy muscle of my body -- it's never troubled me or annoyed me. The connectionbetween us is physical and uncomplicated. It is steady and alive in a verytangible sense. 


But you, my dearest, are my soul. I am so grateful for the manysmall moments you and I had alone in the hospital, while your father was busytackling my "to do" list and your grandparents were carting yourbrother around town. Just the two of us, alone in the quiet. In the brief seconds when our eyes would connect or ourfingers touch, there was so much exchanged. I feel greedy in my need to holdyou; I hardly ever pass you off to your father. There is something like anethereal bond between us. I spent the whole of my pregnancy expecting you to bea boy, and was so utterly shocked to hold you -- a girl! -- in my arms. Asthoroughly surprising as that moment was, I felt whole. Complete. The otherhalf of me, returned. 

And despite how passionate and intense all of that seems, it'sreally much more subdued. It's an easy, flowy kind of connection. And I promiseI won't smother you or expect anything of you other than to be yourself.Whoever that may turn out to be, I know she is perfect and beautiful and happy.And that's all that matters.  

But because I can't entirely restrain myself, and because I hopeto have a running theme for these monthly letters, here are three pieces ofadvice from the anthology I have planned for you:

• Grow your hair long while you're young. As silly and vain as it might seem, I really think every girl should know what it's like to have her hair touch the middle of her back. It seems easiest for the under-7 set, who don’t have to worry about shampooing and brushing and maintaining all that dead skin pouring out the top of their heads on their own. Also, there was a very sweet moment a few days before you were born when your father confessed that he was worried you might be a girl because he had a dream he was braiding hair. And it was not going well. That hilarious scene can't happen if you have a bowl cut, no matter how cute I might have made that look in 1989.
• Cross your legs when you wear a dress, or sit with your legs out straight when you're on the floor. Self-explanatory, really, but let's just say there are a number of family pictures where my smile is outshined by the teddy bears dancing around on my underwear. 
• Wear a tutu even if you can't dance. I hope you do dance, and maybe even take lessons, but lack of formal ballet education never stopped me. And I sure as hell don't think it should stop you. 

Love,

Mama