Category Archives: Monthly Letters

Dearest Hatchling,

Today, you are ONE YEAR OLD. Jumping Jehosaphat. I can’t believe it’s only been a year. I can’t believe it’s already been a year. I remember this time last year like it was only weeks ago: getting pitocin to induce labor, the doctor using that weird crochet hooky thing to break my water (I actually thought that was pretty cool), barfing from the labor pains (not so cool) getting the epidural (extremely awesome, so much so that I think I asked the anaesthetist to marry me), and then pushing and pushing and coming soooo close to getting you out. And then your head got stuck and wouldn’t budge, and after three hours of pushing it started to swell, and we had to have a c-section after all. And that was really just NO FUN AT ALL. They don’t tell you in birthing class about the deep, to-the-bone chill you get from the anaesthesia, how your teeth can’t stop chattering because you’re so, so cold; or the nausea and attendant ralphing that happens when they’re wrestling with your intestines to get to the baby inside. Not that it mattered, because pretty soon there your little head was, popping right out of me and talking up a storm right from the moment you hit the air. (“It was like a scene from Alien,” says Mr. Squab.) And then they pulled the rest of you out of me and I didn’t have my glasses on so I couldn’t really see you and everyone was telling your father to tell me what flavor you were, only he was kind of delirious and couldn’t really tell so it came out kind of like “it’s a … girl?” And I was really surprised, more so than I’d thought I would be, but SO excited, because there you were, our own sweet baby girl, and now we could really get to know you.

You were pretty damn cute right from the beginning, I must say. Which was a good thing for all concerned, because while you were a model child in the hospital, once you got home we had some trouble in the eating department. My milk just didn’t come in the way it should have, and your tongue was tied, and oh! It was a struggle for both of us. I remember numerous times trying to nurse you before going downstairs to show you off to some of your many admirers, and crying and crying to your father that I just couldn’t DO it, it just wasn’t working, and why was it so hard? And then trying to compose myself and put my hostess face on and tell the guests about how wonderful it was to have you home. Stupid social conventions. Daddy was a big help, though, even while he was having a small freak out at the fact that he was a father now. Which, let’s face it, is a pretty big deal.

We figured the eating stuff out eventually, though. Just in time, in fact, because around about 6 weeks you decided to hell with being out of the womb, this whole external world thing sucked, and could we please just go back to how things were? Which you expressed by crying. All. The. Time. I look back at posts from that period and think, yeah … maybe one kid is all I need. Frankly, it was rough going for a while there, and if putting you back in for the “fourth trimester” had been a viable option, believe me, we would have strongly considered it. No sleep, no idea how to GET sleep. A general sense of not knowing what the hell we were doing – and your daddy and I aren’t generally used to that feeling. Nor do we really enjoy it. In fact, it pretty much blows. So like I said, it’s a good thing you were so damn cute.

However. I can’t really complain too much, because while the first three months were less than blissful, and you didn’t sleep so much until about 5 months, you’ve always known how to balance out the bad stuff with a killer smile or a sweet coo, and your father and I have spent the last 7 months being amazed at how lucky we are to have such a good baby. It’s not just that you’re good natured, though you are that. It’s that you have such a large capacity for enjoyment. You’re one of the smiliest babies I know – people remark on it all the time – and you really just get a huge kick out of most things, be it new activities, new foods, new people, or a cool new seat.

Looking back, I can’t believe how much we’ve done with you even at at tender age. Two cross-country plane trips. One new country (Canada, but still). Two family weddings. Gadzoodles of road trips, from 90 minutes to 5 hours at a pop. As someone who prefers to avoid fuss and bother whenever humanly possible, these are things I’m kind of surprised I had the mental energy for. But we did it, and you came up trumps every time.

One of the best things about having you around has been the opportunity to watch your personality develop day by day. I can remember in the first months talking with a friend who had also just had a baby, about how sometimes we worried that we might not recognize our own kids right away in a group. Much as we loved you, nigh unto worship, it nevertheless remains that teetiny babies are much alike in their adorable lumpitude. But lord, that didn’t last long! You’re most definitely a little person now. There’s no mistaking you for anyone but your very own self: sweet-natured, strongly opinionated, probably foul-mouthed and with a notable penchant for cheesy poofs and kitties (to eat and play with, respectively).

Even the normal baby milestones you have to hit in your own way. Teeth? Sure! How about we start cutting them insanely early and then keep going until we have a whole mouthful? Crawling? No, thanks. You preferred to stand at about three months, unassisted at 9 months, and walking (hopefully) any day now. Talking? Actual “words” are so limiting; you disdain them. Far more fun (and practically as communicative) to babble all the livelong day in your own unique Hatchling babycabulary. I imagine at some point in the near future – but not before you’re good and ready – you’ll suddenly start spouting entire sentences out of thin air. Just because you’re contrary like that.

Milestones this month: no more third nap! You’re down to a mere 11-12 hours a night plus two 90-120 minute naps each day. No one can say you’re sleep deprived. You’re about *this* close to walking, which isn’t close enough to take any solo steps, but is close enough to make you royally pissed off that you can’t get where you want to go on your own. You’ll see something you want across the room, cruise along the coffee table until you get to the end, wave one or both arms and cautiously lean in the direction of the desired object, realize you can’t get to it without help, and then whammo! Insta-tantrum. It’s like living with a small, grumpy, non-verbal maharajah: all we can do is salaam and distract you with something shiny. Fortunately, that’s not too difficult to do.

Favorite things this month: Going to the park and swinging, eating fresh strawberries or extra-garlicky hummus, reading Ohmyohmyoh Dinosaurs, playing your new piano toy, and flirting shamelessly with family and friends. Least favorite things: Getting dressed, having your teeth brushed, being in someone’s lap when you want to GET DOWN, being on the floor when you want to be IN SOMEONE’S LAP, and sleeping in strange places. Your quietest times are in the mornings and evenings, when you like to snuggle with us on the sofa as we read to you or watch the news. Your loudest times are when you’re in the bath, where you excel at completely drenching whoever is bathing you. You’ve got the best smile and the most infectious laugh of any person I know, and snorgling your tummy is such a mood lifter it should probably be illegal. All of which is to say: we’re most pleased to have made your acquaintance. Happy First Birthday, little girl, and many happy returns.

Love,
Mamala

Dearest Hatchling,
Last Sunday you turned eleven months old. I didn’t get a chance to write your letter on time because of being in the middle of tech week for a show I’m directing, a phrase I’m sure will resonate through your formative years and result in a deep and abiding resentment of all things theatrical. That’ll learn me.

Actually, I don’t know who I’m kidding: I had to take you with me to the theatre last week and you just about lost your MIND you were so excited to be there. I brought you into the dilapidated dressing room/greenroom and you stood against the ratty sofa and babbled and bounced and laughed out loud at nothing at all. You checked out every nook and cranny of the building, and then sat happily on my lap while I ran lines with one of the cast members. You clearly know you’re a theatre baby, so we’ll hope the resentment will be saved for when I refuse to let you play with Barbies or go to Cabo San Lucas on spring break. THAT I can live with.

Your Uncle Stan says you’re going to be a performer when you grow up, and maybe he’s right: you certainly know how to work an audience already. You’ve developed what your father and I can only call a “shit-eating grin” that you pull out whenever something particularly pleases you. You adopt an underbite, and show all your little teeth, and crinkle up your little eyes in a truly mischievous manner. You may be your father’s daughter in many respects, but the shit-eating grin? That’s from your mama, babydoll. You remember that.

Speaking of teeth … well, I won’t speak of them because I’m sure everyone we know is sick unto death of me bitching about how many teeth you have. Suffice it to say that I am now the proud owner of several permanent tooth-sized dents in my nipular area, and at the rate you’re going we should be able to make some fat cash in the coming months harvesting teeth from your ever-burgeoning gums. “Ellie’s Tooth Booth” we’ll call it. It’ll be a hit.

You’re still not walking unassisted yet, but you can stand like nobody’s business, and one of your favorite games is to stand in the middle of the room and have your daddy flail his arms at you like he’s going to knock you over, just missing every time. You think that’s HILARIOUS. Your Tante Laura can get you to walk holding onto just one of her hands, but you won’t do that for anyone else. You’re working at it, though – we can almost see the cogs spinning in your brain as you figure out how to get ambulatory. Baby steps, kid. Baby steps.

Milestones this month: you’re getting SUPER fun to read to. You definitely have favorite books now (Sandra Boynton is always good) and you anticipate the pages and sections you like best, even mimicking the appropriate sounds – a cat’s meow, the baby hippo saying “bee-bo,” saying “oops!” when the turkey can’t figure out where to put his clothes. It sounds so minor, so little, but I just enjoy the hell out of reading to you. Reading was – is – such an important part of my life, something I get so much joy and comfort and knowledge from, and I feel incredibly lucky to get to pass that along to you.

In more mundane news, you’ve outgrown your wee little orange shoes that I got you for Christmas. I loved those shoes, dammit. Fortunately, now that you’re a size 5, you have like three new pair that you couldn’t wear before – whee! Just wait until you’re big enough for handbags!

You’re acquiring new sounds all the time, including some this month that your father says make you sound like you’re cussing us out. When you really get going it sounds something like “doi doi doi ding ding dang dooee nah bah bah mamama MAAAAH!” To which the only possible response is “okay, then!” You loooooove other kids (to whom you also speak in your cussing voice; that should be interesting when there are actual words involved) and you’re never happier than when your cousin comes over or we take you out to the mall or the park or somewhere else where you can watch those other small people doing their small people things. It’s finally getting warm enough to be outside again, and I see a lot of parks and playgrounds in our future. Now if we can just work on not actually eating the playground sand, that would be a good next step.

I can’t believe we’ve had you around for almost a year, kid. Just ca-nnot believe it. I’ll save the reminiscing for next month’s letter; for now I’m just enjoying the ride. Hope you are, too.

Love,
Mamala

Dearest Hatchling,
Yesterday, you turned 10 months old. It’s been a tough month health-wise, with a bad chest cold at the beginning of the month and a bout of what I can only call the Bolivian Death Flu at the end of the month. It’s no fun being sick, obviously, but you’re remarkably good natured about it, even while projectile vomiting and explosively pooping … AT THE SAME TIME. Oh, the laundry we’ve gone through. Thank goddess you have more clothes than Imelda Marcos has footwear, or we’d have been up shit creek without a onesie, if you know what I’m sayin’.

Illness aside, this has been a banner month for your personality, which is even more explosive than your diapers. (Ok, I’ll quit with the poo references.) The babbling! And the laughing! And the funny expressions and gestures! They are all multiplying exponentially. The kitty licking his paws or your daddy whipping a sleeper around his head or your cousin doing pratfalls in the living room – they all send you into paroxysms of shrieking laughter. Or, even more funny, you’ll just let out a little chuckle, a Beavis and Butthead-esque “heh heh heh” which I’m sure is just a little preview of the many, many occasions we’ll share a juvenile laugh at something only we and frat boys would find funny.

You’ve developed some fairly awesome new movements this month. The flapping motion that you’ve been doing for a while now has a new twist where you let your wrists go limp as you move your arms up and down. You look like a gay, gay, gay person or possibly a backup dancer for Michael Jackson’s Thriller video, and frankly I’m thrilled either way. Gay zombies rock. Your other signature move is to shake your head vehemently from side to side. Sometimes you do this just to be funny, but sometimes you really do seem to use it to mean “no” or perhaps more accurately “HELL, no” as in “Woman, do not MAKE me get out of this highchair and show you where you can stuff that spoonful of strawberry yogurt. Uhn-UH.”

You’re still not crawling; when you’re horizontal you prefer to roll. BUT, and this is extremely exciting for us parental units, you’re starting to stand all by yourself!! You can only do it for a few seconds at a time so far, but you’re pretty solid for those few seconds. Your favorite place to play right now is standing at the coffee table, holding on with one hand and using the other one to grab whatever’s in reach. When you get hold of something really interesting, you grab it with both hands and voila! Standing all on your own! You hardly even notice it, but your dad and grandparents and I all think it’s pretty damn neat. I’m guessing it won’t be long now before you take those legendary first steps, and then whoa, Nellie. And Katy, bar the door. And oh, my stars and garters, we better safen our fasty-belts, it’s gonna be a bumpy ride. The Walking: I’m not sure I’m ready for it, but you sure seem to be.

Naked time is still one of the best times of the day. All we have to do is start zipping your socks off and you start squealing and wriggling in anticipation. Over the last few days a new dimension has been added as you’ve begun to discover your pooter. Boy, are you interested in THAT part of your anatomy. Whenever we change your diaper you’re grabbing the lotion bottle and sticking it between your legs, or reaching a hand down to grab a little pinch of what I fondly refer to as your Wu-Tang Clan. Tonight, during naked time, you used your father as a prop to get right into a full downward dog position with your hands around your ankles in an effort to see what exactly was going ON up there. Ah, vaginas. Let’s hope this is the beginning of a long, fruitful and satisfying relationship with your lady parts.

Let’s see: vomiting, pooping, babbling, shaking and wriggling, standing, nakedness and cooch-grabbing. Yep, that’s month ten! It’s a roller coaster ride with you, kid. A really fucking adorable roller coaster ride.

love,
Mamala

Dearest Hatchling,

TWO Thursdays ago (ack! Bad Mamala!) you turned 9 months old. To celebrate, we took you out to an Irish pub for a quick Guinness. Haha, I kid – we did take you to a bar, but it was really to celebrate your Uncle Matt’s exodus from corporate hell. I must say that you were quite the belle of the bar, though – you definitely thrive in a crowd. As soon as we got there, I stood you on the table and you stretched out your arms in benediction of the drinkers, pronouncing “ba-ba-ba” and flashing that killer grin. Of course, you still won’t let anyone but me or your father actually HOLD you, but as long as you’re safely out of the clutches of any non-parent, you’re happy to flirt and smile and talk and grab and just generally bask in the adoration of those around you.

One of the biggest events of this last month was your first Christmas. Of course, you didn’t really get what was going on, but the rest of the family was more than excited enough for you. You had two special outfits, one for Christmas Eve and one for Christmas Day, and you got enough presents for at least three babies. So many outfits, and sleepers (yessss!), and cute little toys, and books galore. My favorite present for you was your new big-girl car seat, which we were desperately in need of, as you have completely outgrown your infant seat. Seriously, putting you in that thing was getting to be a struggle of Houdiniesque proportions; the straps couldn’t be extended any further, your legs sprawled over the sides, and once you were actually fastened in, you were pinned up against the seat so tight that you couldn’t even move. It was not a good situation, but thanks to Grandma and Grampa, you are now riding in style, in a new, roomy, luxuriously padded car seat. Woot!

The week between Christmas and New Year’s was pretty jam packed, since your Tante Melissa got married on the 30th. This meant a lot of upheaval in your schedule what with all the traveling and sleeping in new places, and for the most part you handled it with your usual aplomb. You were extremely patient with all the wedding party getting ready, and you only fussed a little in the church before falling asleep on your daddy’s shoulder. Then you had a fabulous time at the reception, munching on a bun of bread and gazing in wonder as your aunt and grampa blew bubbles at you from the party favors.

Speaking of buns, another new and delightful development this month was the institution of “naked time,” a period of about 10-15 minutes just before we put you in your sleeper, where you get to roll around the sofa without a stitch of clothing or a fibre of diaper on you. Lemme tell you, you loooooooooove you some nakey time. We start stripping you down and you just about lose your mind with excitement. You giggle, and kick, and twist around like a little maniac, eating your toes and babbling all kinds of baby goodness to us. I said to your aunt that I figure it won’t be too long before you learn to be self-conscious about your body, so I want to make sure you enjoy the heck out of it until that happens. To which your aunt responded, “I don’t know – she is your kid … maybe she’ll be totally comfortable getting naked even when she’s older!” I’m sure I have no idea what she’s talking about.

I can’t forget to mention the other big addition this month, namely: FOUR MORE TEETH. You popped the upper two just before Christmas, and started cutting your lower bicuspids right after that. I dunno why you wanna be such an over-acheiver. You have friends who haven’t even cut ONE tooth yet, but oh, no, you have to have six. Fortunately, you seem to have stopped biting me while you’re nursing. Unfortunately, you’ve taken to grinding your teeth. This, of course, proves once again that you’re my daughter, but oh god it makes a horrifying sound. I can actually hear the enamel splintering off your teeth. Since you’re too young to understand it when we say “no,” the only way we can get you to stop is by putting one of our fingers in your mouth, at which point you grind the finger instead of your teeth. Not much of an improvement, really, because godDAMN, you bite hard. Perhaps you’d care to transfer that power to, say, cheerios in the future?

Biting aside, though, you’re an extremely fun daily companion. You’re bursting at the seams with personality, and everyone remarks on what a happy baby you are. I know you certainly make *us* happy, anyway, and I hope the feeling is mutual.

Love,
Mamala