Dear Lila,

I have long, in-depth conversations with you. I tell you random things and talk to you like you’re aware of my words. You smile and stare, gnawing on your tiny fist, and part of me thinks you understand me.

Caring for you is hard work, and sometimes I need a break, but picking you up at daycare is the best part of my day, every day. I have to hold myself back from running down the hallway to see you. I want to know everything that happened, how much you ate and pooped. Yeah, I care about your poop a whole lot.

The coos, gurgles and shrieks you make are the sweetest sounds I’ve ever heard. They cause this indescribable internal joy that’s a mix of melting and exploding.

Your dad is amazing with you. A-ma-zing. From day one he’s been hands-on and engaged, paving his own routines and games with you. He gave you your first bath, put you in the car seat the first time and stayed and held you when the pediatrician had to prick your heel 10 times…(while I cried and bolted out of the room). You make huge smiles at him and he beams right back. And he’s really good at picking out your clothes and packing the diaper bag.

I feel so proud to have entered a new stage in life because of you. I’ve joined the most wonderful club there is.

You make hilarious facial expressions, regardless of your mood. I often call you the skeptical baby because you give us a bored, all-knowing stare when we do things wrong or say ridiculous things.

Sometimes I check your car seat buckles eight times. Sometimes I rewash bottles I know are clean, “just in case.” Sometimes I stare at the monitor in the middle of the night to see you breathing.

I love wearing you, even when my back aches, and even when you spit up down my chest. Watching you sleep on me is so sweet.

When you were sick this week, getting you better was all that mattered. We went to the pediatrician three times, and I completely overlooked caring for my own illness in the process. PS, we learned you’re allergic to amoxicillin, so stay away from that junk.

I take an obscene number of photos and videos of you. Fortunately people still seem to respond positively to this influx of baby spam. Or they’re just too polite to object. Winner either way!

I’m already sad that one day you will go through things that will be hard and painful. I worry about your future far more than I ever did my own.

I marvel, every single day, that I carried you inside me for 39 weeks. I think of all the places we went together and things we experienced that were just us two. I feel happy about those memories.

I try my hardest every day for you, and still feel like it’ll never be good enough. Not because I’m striving for perfection, but because you’re so perfect, nothing could ever be good enough.

You are remarkable. You are a delight. You are a gift.

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One thought on “Dear Lila,

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