A Letter To Kyle at 2 months old

Dear Kyle,

All the worries I had before you were born, about how you would fit into our family, have vanished. And they vanished instantly. From the moment I held you it was like you had always been here. I was so worried you would feel like a stranger; an intruder into this little life we had become so used to. That I would harbour guilt because I loved Rhys more. Words can't fully recant how ridiculous that seems to me now.

I absolutely loved the first two nights at home with you. I stayed in your room all night, with you on my chest. When you woke I would nurse you, when you were done we'd snuggle and rock until you'd drift off again. I would smell your head and press my lips and nose against the peach fuzz on your head that we call hair. It was so special. In fact, those two nights were so wonderful that I proclaimed to your Daddy that I already wanted another baby. That is how head-over-heels in love with you I already was. I know that as you grow older, those will be the moments I look back on that will make me cry.

Things about you at 2 months old:

You love to snuggle. To be rocked to sleep. To snooze in any one's arms or on any one's chest.

You startled easily as a newborn, but have never liked being swaddled.

You never slept in the bassinet in our room. You went straight to your crib in your own room. This worked well because it turns out you are a loud sleeper... Always squeaking or snorting or grunting or whistling with your nose.

You have never liked sleeping on your back, which caused me much stress at first. Back is Best is what parents are told. But, you are a tummy sleeper, and I've made peace with that.

The longest stretch of sleep you've had so far is 6.5 hours. I feed you twice through the night and your bedtime is slowly shifting from 11:30pm towards a more reasonable time, like 8:30pm on a good night. Instead of the 9-12 feedings a day, I now nurse you 6-7 times in 24 hours. You have taken a bottle twice.

You. Were. Gassy. Or 'Colicky', as some would say. You had a witching hour from about 9pm - 11:30pm when the pains in your tummy made you inconsolable most nights. We actually contemplated taking you to the hospital at times, in fear that your appendix was bursting or something. I had perfected about six burping positions. We also tried Oval, Gripe Water, dietary restrictions and pro-biotics. Not sure what did the trick, but your gassy phase seems to be done for now (knock on wood!).

Now that you're not riddled with gas pains, you seem pretty chill. You don't get upset when you hear a vacuum or a blow dryer or Grampa's tools or the loud clanging of toys that Rhys plays with.

Your big brother, Rhys, likes you a lot when he's in the mood to. He'll often stop playing for a second, run over to you, and put his face right up to yours and smile. He asks to see you when you're not in the room, and he tells everyone to 'be quiet as a mouse' when you're sleeping. The rest of the time, he's oblivious to your cries, or your need to eat.

Your eyes are blue/grey, and your 'hair' is very fair (I think we're in denial that you're actually bald).

At two months old you have already rolled from front to back a couple times, and you move around your crib enough to get your limbs caught in the crib rails. You are batting toys with your little fists. You smile and coo and melt the hearts of your parents and grandparents. Oh, those sounds. They are magic.

I want to apologize for something that is bound to happen, though. The first couple years of your life won't be documented with the same minutia that your brother's was. I will try my best, but I know it won't be enough. But know this. Less photos and videos and blog entries does not mean I wasn't watching you. It does not mean I am not soaking you in and cherishing you every bit as much. Because I am. Now I know the things to watch for. The things to burn into my memory. Now I know how fast you will change, so I will stop to stare. I may not grab the camera or the keyboard and write about it every time, but I did it. I promise. It would be impossible not too.

To my sweet, handsome, soft, adorable little Snuggle Bug... I love you, Kyle.

Love,

Your Mom

(Editor's note: I am horrified to admit that this is THE ONLY family photo, of all four of us together, that we have taken. We didn't even take one in the hospital. I think in April I will resolve to get one-a-week, because I think that's criminal!)