the welcoming committee

the coolest dude!

dear sweet boy,

the last two nights when i got home from work, i heard the precious slap-slap-slap of your hands on the floor as you crawled over to greet me. it used to be that i’d have to call your name before you realized i had returned. now you hear my key in the lock and you make a beeline for the door.

your welcomes make me feel like a zillion trillion dollars, kiddo. i don’t know if i’ll ever be able to explain to you how it feels.

you broke my heart a little last night, though, because a while later, as we were playing on the floor by the sliding doors to the balcony, you heard a sound in the hallway that could have been someone else with their keys or even a dog with a noisy collar.

you took off for the door and when it didn’t immediately open you started to whine. when you’d gotten all the way there and it still hadn’t opened, you sat back and started to cry. i can only assume you thought daddy was about to walk in. i went over and scooped you up and said, “dada’s at work, pal. you’ll see him in the morning.” i had to open the door and show you he wasn’t standing in the hallway, because you wouldn’t let up.

i guess daddy and i must be doing something right—you do seem to like having us around!

you continue to astound me with your little changes every day. in the last week you’ve started pointing at things quite a bit. you’re still yammering up a storm and i’m starting to pick up on sounds that seem more like actual words. you have finally gotten accustomed to being read to (for a few months there you seemed to want nothing to do with books, which made me disproportionately sad) — and, lo and behold, your favorite book seems to be the one i’ve been reading to you almost every day since you were teeny tiny, Guess How Much I Love You. a few nights ago i pointed out the moon to you in one of the illustrations. the next night, when i said, “Matty, show mama the moon,” you pointed right at it. my little smarty-pants.

last night after i got home, your babysitter Marie said to me, “he is such a happy boy. he’s so content just to crawl around and play on his own…” which is quite similar to something your Auntie Kate said when she came to visit on Friday. i don’t think i can take much credit for your lovely disposition, but it makes me feel even prouder to be your mama.

this morning you and i squeezed in a trip to the A&P while daddy slept (it’s the least we could do, as daddy made a special trip to Carter’s on Tuesday after working the overnight shift just to stock up on onesies because it was the last day of a two-day sale). it was a quick and easy trip (no one’s shopping for groceries that hour on a Wednesday!) and as i was putting the groceries away and you were playing in the pile of cardboard waiting to be taken to the recycling room, a song from Disney’s Tarzan came on Pandora. i don’t know the name of it and it actually doesn’t even have words, but it’s a fun song and so i scooped you up and we danced in the kitchen and i had one of those moments (which happen fairly often these days) when i thought there’s no way i could ever be happier in life than i am right now.

and yet, you prove me wrong time and again, sweet boy.

i love you, Matty Pants!

mama

thirteen months!

my little slugger!

dear matty,

i just want you to know—because i don’t think you can fully appreciate it at the moment—that you are 13 months old today and this is the first seventh of a month since the day you were born that i did not subject you to a photo shoot. you’re welcome!

it’s hard to believe it’s been a whole month since your first birthday. you’ve been quite the adventurer in the last four weeks. you’ve discovered pretty much every cabinet door in our home, that you can easily open and close the (never-been-used) broiler drawer on the oven, that the volume-knob on the stereo is easily-removable, and that the control panel for our heating/AC unit can hold approximately nine of your wooden alphabet blocks.

yesterday i watched you crawl under a chair in grammie and grandpa’s family room for the first time and you love to tool around behind one of your push-toy walker things. you aren’t talking yet, but you are yelling: GAAAAHHHHHH! is one of your favorites. as is DAAADADADAAAA! you seem to say “done” when—how accurate of you—you are done with something.

you also, for the first time this weekend, blew kisses. precious.

on Saturday we went to visit great gram Claire. you make her really, really happy, kiddo. and you seem to be tickled by her, too. she lowers her bed to your level and you love to stand at the foot of it and play peek-a-boo, crouching down and then popping back up. on Saturday, you took one of the little plastic balls from your poppin' dragon toy (or whatever it's called) and opened her hand, put the ball on her palm, closed her fingers over it and then went on your way. she found that to be amazing (as did i, to be honest).

it was later that night that i realized the camo-colored makeup bag i'd stuck in the diaper bag (so i'd have easy access to lip balm without having to drag my purse along) was missing. before i could call great gram to see if it had fallen out on her floor, she called me and said she'd found it—under her bed. 
"i think our little friend might've hid it there," she said to me. ohhh, you little rascal. when i wasn't looking, that's exactly what happened, i'm sure of it. you love to hide things, especially under furniture. 

but, hey, now we have an excuse to pay great gram another visit very soon. come to think of it, maybe you knew exactly what you were doing....

we spent a fun day with grammie and grandpa yesterday at a Trenton Thunder game. they're the Yankees' double-A team and their ballpark is a great place for kids. you had a great time, despite being on the sleepy side. grandpa gave you a tour of the ballpark and grammie let you have some of her hamburger. our seats were pretty close to the field, but you and i went and sat just behind the visiting team's dugout and i think if i'd let you, you would have crawled across the roof of the dugout right onto the field. (something i'd do only if we had those seats at Yankee Stadium. i'd have to go retrieve you and, hey, if i bumped into Derek Jeter in the process, so be it...)

we went back to grammie and grandpa's for dinner and a sleepover, which was a nice way to end a nice weekend. 

so, yes, you are very much loving life at 13 months. and we are loving life with you, more and more every day. 

love you, Matty Pants! mama 

hint, hint

just thought i’d post this picture here, Bubs. no reason. just because…

love you, Matty Pants!

mama

treasure

Avery and her dad, courtesy of her blog.

dear Matthew,

i don’t know why i read some of the things i read. i know they’re going to destroy my insides and yet i can’t seem to help myself. yesterday i clicked on a headline that said “bucket-list baby dies” or something like that. not a lot of ways you can interpret those words—i knew what i was going to get. but still, it was all i could do not to break down at my desk.

a little girl named Avery was born in November of last year and diagnosed a month ago with spinal muscular atrophy, a rare but devastating illness. her life expectancy at the time of diagnosis was around 18 months. she died two days ago.

her dad, just after finding out that his baby girl had SMA, created a blog for her—actually “by” her, in her voice—with a bucket list of all the things she wanted to accomplish in her life.

it wasn’t a sad blog at all; in fact, it was very hopeful and even funny. but reading it knowing that little Avery was already gone—well, it gave me an acute case of heartbreak, kiddo.  

and i just want to tell you, Matthew—as i do every single day—that i love you so very, very much. i count my blessings every single day that you are happy, healthy and in my life. i try very hard every day to slow down and share little moments with you, to stare at your face as you sleep, to relish the smell of your hair after a bath, to let your giggles tickle my spirit, to give you time to crawl in some dirt, stare at the sky, touch trees and flowers, examine things from every angle.

 the other night you were having trouble sleeping and i brought you in with me to cuddle. you fell asleep again with your hand on my cheek and i lay awake, thinking over and over: my heart is not inside me anymore, it’s right here next to me, with two chubby legs and two dimpled arms and crooked-cut bangs and six beautiful teeth and the most precious face i’ve ever laid eyes on.

you are a treasure, Matthew. don’t ever forget that. and life is a treasure, too. you can have good days and bad days and fun days and sad days, you can be eager for your next birthday or Christmas or summer vacation, but don’t ever wish time away. it’s one of the things only grown-ups know, but time goes so much faster than you can imagine.

i hope you cherish it. i hope i can teach you how.

love you, Matty Pants.

mama

look, every kid has a picture like this.
spaghetti-faced, yes, but also crooked-banged.
like i said, rite of passage.

oh, Matty. you poor kid. you’ve been hit with a double-whammy:

first, i cut your hair. really, just the front part. your bangs, if that’s what they’re called on a boy. i’d done it before, months ago, when you were too little to notice or care what i was doing. easy as pie! and the difference was subtle but satisfying. this time? not so much. i knew before i even snipped that it was a mistake, that i was living dangerously, but did it stop me? nooo. i was determined. (for the record, the rest of your hair wasn’t yet long enough to justify another trip to the salon; this was supposed to be just a quick fix, an in-the-meantime solution. right.) i will summarize the results of my ad-hoc trim with your dad’s response to it: “He looks like Moe.” as in, Moe from the Three Stooges.

i did try to hide my handiwork under your Yankees cap for as long as possible. but—similarly to how you don’t hold still for haircuts from mama anymore, you don’t like to keep hats on your head (or shoes on your feet).

in my defense, hair grows back. also, as Grammie magnanimously said yesterday when she saw a photo of your new ‘do, “he’s just so handsome he makes a bad haircut look good!”

i wouldn’t say it’s bad, mind you. it’s just not…good. i keep telling myself this is one of those rites of passage for new moms. and, in turn, for their kids. we will both laugh about this someday, Matty Pants. or you’ll laugh as you hand me your therapist’s bill. either way.

the second part of the double-whammy is the fever you spiked yesterday. you had a slight temp in the morning, but seemed otherwise yourself so i wasn’t alarmed. then daddy called me around lunchtime and said the thermometer was reading 104.7. i don’t even really remember leaving my office, i was out of there so fast. i didn’t think you were in any immediate danger, but it was your first fever and, hey, you’re my baby. my instinct to protect and nurture overpowers anything else, especially my to-do list at work.

we took you to the doctor—and, oh, you poor thing. it clearly hadn’t been long enough since our last visit for you to forget the two shots you received. because when the nurse came at you with the thermometer, you screamed bloody murder. she only slipped it under your arm, but you carried on as if she’d jabbed you with the sharpest stick she could find. when the doctor came in, forget it. she opened the door and you jumped out of your skin. thank goodness we don’t have to go back (barring any other illness) until your 15 month well visit. you’ll need that long to get over the PTSD!

anyway, the doc said it’s just a virus. nothing involving your ears or lungs. your nose is a little drippy, but otherwise you’re just fine and will kick this thing fairly quickly with rest and fluids. she was actually very impressed that you’d gone 12 months and almost three weeks without a fever. (hooray for excellent immune systems!)


so, to recap: the hair will grow back; the virus will pass. double-whammy-shwammy. 


love you, Matty Pants!
mama

perspective

no burp cloths, just binkies! 

hi Matty. i was just outside for a bit, enjoying this crazy summer-like weather on a bench in Central Park. i meant to read my book—and i did, off and on—but mostly i people-watched. i saw many, many couples pushing tiny babies in strollers or sitting and tending their little ones. it took me right back to a year or so ago, when daddy and i took you out (pretty much everywhere, including Central Park) — it was always an adventure. back then we were all about on-the-fly diaper changes, packing enough burp clothes, scrambling for the Hooter Hider when you needed to eat, always making sure you were warm or cool enough…. we’re a lot more laid back now (you also require less intervention on most days) but it made me smile to see the new parents learning the ropes.

we were on our way home from your cousin Makenna’s baptism on Saturday when daddy said to me, “isn’t it amazing, how you just do it?” we’d been talking about your newborn days and how we’d somehow made it to the present day fairly easily. “i have no business being anyone’s father,” he said with a self-deprecating smile. (which i told him is so not true, even though i think he knows that. he should be teaching classes on how to be a good dad.)

anyway, it is amazing—the progression of time, how you just figure it out as you go along, and suddenly you’ve gone from being a new parent to being one who can dole out advice to soon-to-be parents. (while also, of course, still seeking advice from parents with more experience.)

you had a pretty good first week of being one. your teeth are still causing you periodic agony, but you also somehow managed to get a book from the table next to the glider into your crib (how? i have no idea and will probably never know) so the pain is clearly not preventing you from adventures.

you tried your first lollipop on Saturday—and didn’t like it, much to my shock. but you don’t like much of anything these days (by some miracle, you ate half of an avocado and tomato sandwich for lunch yesterday—you do like to keep me on my toes, kiddo). still, when you put the lollipop up to your mouth and made a face like it was sour, i couldn’t believe it. you gave it one more shot and then threw it on the floor—where you throw all things you have no need for.

speaking of, i feel like the words i say to you more than almost anything (except “i love you”—seriously, i can’t help myself) is “Matthew, no.” you’re just a little explorer these days and i love that, but there are also many things in our condo that either you shouldn’t touch and the only way to teach you not to touch these things is to wait for you to find them and then tell you “no.” (if any parents out there have a better solution, i’m all ears!) i know it’s working, though, because you’ll go up to something i’ve already told you not to touch and look at me as you’re raising your hand to touch it, to see what i’ll do. it is extremely hard for me not to laugh or at least smile, because the fact that you know i’ll be watching, ready to say “no,” makes me think you’re extremely clever, which of course tickles me, but i force myself to stay neutral. (or, more often, turn around before i smile/laugh and then turn back to you once i’ve composed myself.)

you’re getting closer to walking, i think. you’re standing unsupported for longer stretches of time (which you get a huge kick out of) and cruising like a pro. part of me is so eager for you to take off, yet after watching several parents in the park yesterday chasing after their toddlers, i think i ought to enjoy your relative stillness while i can.

something tells me you’ll be hearing a lot more “Matthew, no!” once you’re on the go.

i love you, Matty Pants!

mama

   

ONE!

to my sweetest, happiest, awesomest big boy,

you are officially one year old. we all made it through the first year. and quite wonderfully, i’d say. everyone told us how hard it was to have a kid. i told many people at your party on Saturday that it’s all been much easier than i expected—truly. and i think i have many people to thank for that, but most of all you.

you had a great birthday, kiddo. your party was a success and, by all accounts, a blast for your guests. you did not freak out—not even a little—when 60-plus people surrounded your high chair and sang Happy Birthday to you. afterward, you dug right into your smash cake, making quick work of the icing and clawing your way right into the yellow sponge cake. (the only time you were peeved all day, really, is when we finally took the mess away from you.)

everyone who came was beyond generous—we are so lucky to be related to such bighearted people, Matty, you have no idea. not only did they come armed with diapers, wipes, blankets, clothes, toys and other supplies for mama’s friend’s soon-to-be baby boy, they also disregarded our request for no presents and came armed with great things for you!  (now we just need to find you a bigger toy box…)

toward the end of the celebration, you fell asleep in daddy’s arms and we transferred you to your stroller where you napped—with your little jeans unsnapped at the waistband, a sure sign of a successful party.

 

later that night, after your bath and once you were in your PJs, i sat with you in the glider and daddy sat nearby and i just hugged you close. it was then that my emotions got the best of me and i found myself in tears—which happened more than a few times in the first weeks after you were born, actually. between the crazy hormones and the lack of sleep and the wonder of finally being able to see you and hold you, happy tears spilled down my cheeks regularly. my tears on your birthday were more of the same.

being your mama is the best thing i’ve ever done. i’ve been saying so often lately that it’s already been one year. there’s a better way to look at it: it’s only been one year—i’m sure i can’t even begin to imagine how much more fun we’ll get to have together. that makes me smile real big.

happy birthday, precious boy!

i love you, Matty Pants!

mama