Letter to Mimi: Month Two

Dear Mimi,

In the first month after you were born I used to say that you didn't seem like a fragile tiny newborn, mostly because you weren't so tiny. Well, this last month I had to eat my words when you were admitted to the hospital with RSV. When I watched you struggle to breathe you suddenly seemed frighteningly and terribly fragile.

But thankfully our prayers were answered and after three days in the hospital you were off the oxygen and the congestion had died down enough so that you could breathe okay on your own. And so the two of us went home from the hospital, again.

Even though I hated seeing you sick, once it was clear that you were on the mend I started appreciating certain aspects of our hospital stay. In some ways it felt like a do-over of our stay in the hospital after you were born. But this time I wasn't in wrenching pain from surgery and I could devote all my energy to caring for you. My mind wasn't addled by painkillers and so I could watch your sweet sleeping face and see the smiles flit across it.

Not that I just stared at you while you were sleeping for hours and hours like a creeper. I also watched movies on my phone, napped, read, or worked on a blanket I'm knitting for you. In some ways I'm grateful for the experience because being right by your side for three days without any distractions (i.e., your big brother and the demands of normal life) really cemented the bond I feel with you. I loved you before but now I feel like I know you and your needs better, like I'm more in tune to you.

The last few weeks you've been paying more attention to people and wanting to interact with us. Your first smiles were for your own reflection in the convex mirror on your swing but now you've moved on to second best and you like looking and cooing at us. Your gurgling smiles are the best.

You continue to be a mellow baby and for the most part sleep like champ. It's something I continue to be very grateful for. Last night your dad and I were talking about you and gloating to ourselves about what a good baby you were and we jinxed it: for the first time ever you cried off and on for over an hour. I would rock you to sleep only to have you wake up crying ten minutes later. You eventually ended up going to sleep for real and your dad and I looked at each other slightly shell-shocked and silently agreed not to press our luck by bragging about you so much.

But even now I can't help it. When I think of you I silently gloat to myself and my heart feels like it's going to burst with joy. Really, you are the best.