Dear Henry,

On Monday you were two months old. I took you in for your two month check-up and the doctor and nurses kept trying to make you smile. That is all anyone wants to do lately, make you smile.

You smiled at us for the first time this past month and you haven’t stopped. You flash your gums any chance you get, melting the hearts of everyone around you. Your grandparents, your sister, and mostly mama and daddy. Your grins have given us a glimpse of your sweet personality. You are a very good baby. Everyone wants to snuggle you as you try to hold your head up and coo.

Your second month marked your first Christmas! You got more presents than any baby would ever need. Your big sister loved opening them and showing them to you. Every family event and Christmas party meant you were passed around and adored.

We watched you grow this month. And, boy did you grow little boy! On your two month birthday you weighed in at 12 lbs. 9 oz.! All that nursing you do is paying off. You don’t love taking a bottle. We have to coax you into it. If I’m in the room, forget about it. You are not interested. You want it from the source!

You are becoming known for more than  your smile. You’ve gained notoriety for your activities at the other end too. Your epic gas and the noisy way load your diaper is hilarious.

Henry, when you smile at me I feel like I can do anything. You make every day better for our family. Thank you for helping make this holiday so special. More than that, thank you for coming into our lives and making our family so happy! I love you, my sweet, sweet boy.

Love,

Mama

Our three-year-old has become interested in what makes a girl a girl and a boy a boy. She asks, “Mama, what do girls have again?” She has obviously noticed her newborn brother’s different genitals during diaper changes. In her class at daycare they now have separate potties for Boys and Girls in the Threes class versus the tiny unisex toilets in the toddler rooms. This further emphasizes the differences. I was changing the baby’s diaper the other day and she said, “Mama! I see his peanuts!” We corrected her pronunciation of “penis” and stifled our giggles.

Okay. So we’ll have to be more diligent in our quest to make sure we use proper anatomical terms. One thing we have discussed is that private parts are private. We explained to our daughter that that others don’t touch your private parts. Only parents when they are helping you in the bath or the doctor. We have discussed with her that if anyone ever tries to touch her or keep secrets about that type of behavior, that she needs to tell us. I feel like she understands this and I’m glad. We want to make sure our child is not a victim of abuse.

I was unaware of how my parental diligence could hilariously backfire. Never underestimate a three-year-old. 

During a recent family road trip, we heard “I have to go potty!” from the back seat. We pulled off the interstate and I took her to the ladies room at a small town gas station. We took advantage of the larger handicapped stall. We were the only ones in the bathroom as she did her business. I didn’t think much of another woman coming in the bathroom and taking the stall next to us. I took my turn at the toilet.

She stood next to me restlessly, hanging on to the handicapped bar. With my pants down, hovering over the commode I heard my sweet child say loudly and firmly with conviction, “Mama! I will not touch your privates!”

::gasp::

::head smack::

I felt my face get really hot. I pictured this nameless woman behind the partition calling county services in this rural area to report a sexual deviant. I caught my breath and stuttered nervously, “Yes sweetie. That’s right. Private parts are private! Very good.” I then hurried her out of the stall and we washed our hands. I heard a flush. Oh God! I knew I’d have to look at this woman. I silently prayed she would see I was a nice mom with her private parts covered and not some pervert. I gave a polite, nervous smile. For some reason I felt like I needed to speak. I tend to talk too much in general, let alone when I’m nervous. I saw her college team on her sweatshirt and made some comment about their bowl game. Thankfully, this woman smiled at my daughter and didn’t seem phased by her bathroom proclamation.

The calendar turning to 2014 means my younger sister is due with her first baby any time. I have several other pregnant friends. My friend from college became a first-time mom on New Year’s Eve.

Julie, Kevin and “baby”

It’s the year of my second child’s infancy. These past eight weeks with my newborn son has rekindled all of those new mom feelings, but with a new confidence that comes with experience. I look at my sister and my pregnant friends and want to tell them so many things. I look at their round bellies and glowing faces and think, “Don’t you know will never be the same again? Ever.”  No, they don’t know. I didn’t.

One of my favorite quotes is this:

“The moment a child is born, the mother is also born. She never existed before. The woman existed, but the mother, never. A mother is something absolutely new.”

–Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh

I want to tell them how exhausted and nervous they will be. I want to tell them breastfeeding will be hard and frustrating but it’s okay and you and your baby will figure it out. You will second guess yourself and every choice you make. Everything will take longer than you think it will. You will never look at your husband the same way, again. You will forever see your child’s face in his.

Sometimes it will feel like you’re trying to keep your head above water. You will try to be all things to everyone, a great mom, a great wife and a good employee. Sometimes you will fail and that’s okay.

You will cry. Sometimes you will cry a lot.

I want to tell you going back to work is really, really hard. It’s like leaving a piece of your heart with someone else for ten hours a day and it can be torture. You will look at your smiling coworkers who are exactly the same as when you left and you will want to shout, “Don’t you understand that I am different now?!!” But, it gets better and eventually you figure out what it means to be a working mom.

With all of that, you have to know that this is the coolest thing you will ever do. You could stare at your baby all day long. You will make plans for his future as you rock him and your worries will run the gamut from wondering if he is getting enough nutrition as an infant, to if he’ll struggle at fractions in math class, to if he’ll marry the right person. Then again, if you can make your newborn smile, you can die a happy woman with no worries in the world.

Welcome to this beautifully imperfect sisterhood, where every woman whether a mother for just a few months, or fifty years will peek in your stroller and understand everything you’re feeling. They may give you a knowing smile. Consider it an induction in to the motherhood sorority.

To Julie, Stephanie, Anjelica and all the 2014 new mothers, we’re glad you’re here. You may never be the same again, but you wouldn’t change it for anything. It is wonderful. Happy New Year.

It was fourth grade when I figured out the Santa Claus thing. I was nine. I had my suspicions when I was eight and in third grade the year before. I needed to get to the bottom of the innocence-destroying rumors that run rampant on elementary school playgrounds. I wanted to know the truth behind the claims I’d heard from peers that Santa was just your parents. You remember these kids. They were somehow older and wiser, a little more battle-hardened. They often had older siblings and knew about things like firecrackers and french kissing. I was determined to snoop enough in the attic and pretend to be asleep just long enough to hear my parents heading upstairs when they thought my sister and I were asleep.

After that Christmas I faked it for my younger sister’s benefit for several years. Sometimes we watch old home videos and she says “Wait! You knew about Santa then, didn’t you? You were just faking it!”

My parents were amazing Santas. Incredible. The Christmases of my childhood were magical and wonderful. Our Santa had our toys assembled and on display in the living room each Christmas morning. Our Nintendo was even set up and on the TV ready to play. Every child should have a dad who opens the door when it’s time to go to bed just in time for sleigh bells to chime. One year there were reindeer hoof and sleigh sounds over our heads, coming from the roof. I kid you not. It was awesome.

For my daughter’s first Christmas we got to be Santa! I got to display her toys and set everything up just perfectly. Each year since I have planned out how presents would be displayed for maximum excitement impact and better Instagram pictures.

Santa 2013

But, I have to admit one thing. A little part of me was sad that it wasn’t really Santa. It was me. The parent. It was completely and totally confirmed then. No fat, jolly man with magical reindeer brought me presents. He won’t bring my children presents. I have to imagine that’s how 11-year-olds around the world feel when an owl doesn’t deliver their letter from Hogwarts on their birthdays. They know in their rational minds that J.K. Rowling wrote those wonderful stories and they wouldn’t get to go to platform 9 3/4. But, there was always a little hope. Now, it was now confirmed.

I don’t ever want to know how the bell ringing was timed so perfectly or how the sounds of reindeer were over my head. I don’t want to know. Ever. It takes away a little of the magic for me. Now, I will come up with my own ways to make Santa magic. This year “Madeline,” our Elf on the Shelf made counting the days until Christmas fun for our daughter. Hanging her princess dress-up clothes from the mantel to display over her toys was fun too. It’s a little absurd how much thought I put into how to display my kids’ presents from Santa.

I just want to help them believe as long as possible, maybe even have a small part of them get a little sad on their child’s first Christmas.

Yep. This is a post where I show off my beautiful babies. It’s shameless. I know.  Ya’ll! Look at these! My sweet friend Brooke is a very talented photographer specializing in weddings, families and kids. Check her out here and on Facebook here. Maybe it’s just me, but I love looking at newborn photography. It’s an ovary overload. It makes me want like, 20 babies. Seriously.

Brooke and I had an awesome time arranging my little man in a basket and taking adorable photos. What it is about mamas? We love taking pictures of our naked little babies. He looks so sweet and wonderful as freshly baked newborns should . I look at these and my exhaustion from not sleeping in six weeks vanishes. I love these children and can’t believe I have these awesome pictures of them. Thank you, Brooke! Tell me which ones you think would make a good canvas or framed photo in the house.