I am tearing my nose out from the folds of your neck and pudginess of your cheeks just to write you this. Such is my sacrifice as your mom. For I would prefer staying lost in those creases, savouring every scent emanating from your delicious newness, for as long as I can.
There has been countless research done regarding personalities and birth order. Being the second child, you do not get the undivided attention that your big sister got. You do not get the benefit of a first time parents awe and wonder at every spittle and hiccup. Your growth and milestones are compared with what your sister has already done. You get a lot of hand-me-downs.
But it is not all bad. You get the benefit of parents who have slightly more sense of what they are doing. You certainly get parents who are more relaxed and easygoing. You get the love (and adoration actually) of a big sister. And while Kaya will always have the first firsts, I think your firsts will often be appreciated more fully. You are our last child. Our baby. I am making sure to cling to and memorize every miraculous thing that you do. Whether that be a newborn snuggle on my chest, wide eyes searching out Kaya’s giggly twirls or those scrumptious gassy smiles that puts similarly silly smiles on all those around.
One month olds such as yourself hold the power of joy. The power of a peaceful happiness that eludes people much of the time. I can take you out anywhere, and a sea of smiles abound. If I went out on my own, I would never have the connection with people, all sorts of people, that I have when I take you out. I have been stopped, approached, gazed at, complimented and mauled by people who just want to feel that baby energy. The newness. The innocence. The love. It doesn’t matter whether it is an old curmudgeonly man, a foreign woman who speaks little English to us, an East Indian couple, a gang of preschoolers or all those moms reminiscing when their kids were that little, everybody just wants to be around you. Because we all, the world over, want to do best by our children. And I want to do best by you. Always. Even when I, on occasion, screw up royally. (And I will, oh yes I will…)
You are one month old today. It is remarkable how I can feel all at once that you arrived only yesterday and have been with us forever also. Having children, I have learned that there is no quantitative measure of love. Somehow in this crazy time, space continuum that is my life (Um, perhaps now is the time to tell you about your conception igniting my Sci-Fi addiction), it is apparent that I loved you fully before you ever arrived and that that love grows infinitely. Complete love that grows and grows. Go figure.
Phew, enough of this deep, heady stuff.
You are one month old which means life is pretty simple. You sleep, you poop, and you eat. Oh can you eat. You love your Booby Snacks. (As a cultural and historical side note, Booby Snacks is a take on Scooby Snacks. Please tell me you have watched Scooby Doo. If not, I have failed you as a mother. Solving Scooby mysteries was a cornerstone of my own childhood and one I must remember to share with you. ‘Scooby Doobie Dooooo!!!’) In your case, Booby Snacks means you love your booby milk in small, frequent snack-sized doses. That means I am a busy, and couch-bound mommy. Which is cool. Leaves me plenty of time to watch the Torchwood episodes I’ve been recording.
We’ve been recording you too. But, and I am sorry to have to tell you this, as cute and lovable as you are, one month olds are also fairly boring. So most of the video ends up of Kaya spinning along with ‘So You Think You Can Dance’ then running up to the camera demanding “I watch now!” Still, on some of the video you may hear reference to you. Jelly-Belly-Bean, Bubbles, Sweetie-Pie and Cutes are all you. But our family favourite, and most used nickname, is ‘Brenny McDoodle’. What can I say? It just flows!
Ah, Brenny McDoodle, with your monkey, coconut tree-climbing toes, how you adore lying chest to chest, feeling our breaths, our heartbeats, our love. That is contentedness. For you and for us. Until the heat wave hits and contentedness for you is a cool fan and for me is a swim in the lake. Oh Brennyn with your resilient head that has endured several elbows, a knee, a vacuum hose attachment and a Dora toy bouncing atop your noggin. Such is life with a toddler in the house. Oh Brenny with your adorable grunts (especially in the Baby Buddha wrap), hungry snorts and scary gasps for air upon eating too fast. Ah our Cutes, who wiggles and jiggles in constant motion. Practicing already to keep up with big sis I suppose. Oh my Jelly-Belly-Bean with your expressive hands and telling face. Am I catching the first glimpses of your mischievous, artistic nature? Oh Brennyn Claire, my girl, my child, how I shall adore getting to know your quirks and traits forever more.
You are restless in your sleep right now. If Kaya were here she would insist you need a ‘huggle’ then mimic her mommy’s words whispering “I know baby Brennyn… It’s okay. I know. Don’t be sad. I know…” She would put her face next to yours, rub your cheeks and in her own words add “Cute cheeks! I love you Sweetie-Pie!” before running away squealing about monsters stealing her belly button. As she is not here, I will whisper those same words of comfort, bury my nose back in your skin and make damn sure no monster comes anywhere near your belly button.
Loving you Fully and Completely,