I'm Missing You

My Dear Sweet Baby Girl,

Giuliana, I can't believe it's been very nearly two years since you made your entrance into this world and changed me forever. Your birthday, your second one!, is just a week and a half away. So, tonight I dug out the rarely used video camera to capture a few moments of your YOUness, right now, so I never forget. You indulged me by being very cute. You helped me empty the dishwasher and we sang the ABCs together while we did it. You banged on some pots and pans and played with the dog. You danced for me, "read" me a story, and colored me a picture. You chatted up a storm, which was exactly what I wanted to document. Thank you for cooperating.

After we were done recording we decided to watch some of the old tapes of you as a baby. We had to watch them on the little screen on the video camera because Mommy and Daddy still haven't managed to buy one of the VHS tapes to stick the little tapes in. (YES! we are still recording you on VHS, I know, I know...we will convert them all to DVD one day, I promise! We even have the machine to do it...it's the time that's a problem.)

You were facinated when I put in the tape from a year ago. You watched your first birthday party and recognized yourself in that barely-still-baby on the screen. You were excited again watching Mommy help you open your presents, recognizing all your now familiar toys. You pointed out all your favorite people and drooled over your birthday cupcakes (you begged for one, but, I'm sorry, honey, we don't have any cupcakes in the house.)

Next I put in the very first video tape. It starts with Mommy opening mail and finding your Social Security card. I laughed at myself as I got all excited, holding up the envelope to the camera, your first piece of mail, the documents that prove you are alive, a citizen, you have a name (and they spelled it right!) Daddy also indulged me as I held our health insurance statement up to the camera, showing off that you didn't cost us a dime when you were born, dispite choosing to come into the world the hard way.

And then, the camera pans to the main event. You. Your almost two year old self doesn't recognize that baby. Oh, but I do! There you are, days old. You are lying in your pack and play, skinny little arms and legs twitching and flaying uncontrollably. Your eyes roam, in and out of focus. Your little pink tongue darts in and out of your mouth. You make little squeaks which are the cutest thing, but don't really mean anything. But you are here. In our house. In our world. This sweet, adorable, completely foreign little person. And instantly I am transported.


With an aching like a physical punch in the gut I instantly miss you, though you are sitting right here on my lap. I am lost, once again in those first days of your life. Reliving those moments when I learned how to be your mother. It was a strange mix. I had known you from the moment you were concieved. But I didn't know you at all. I spent weeks just getting to know you. Learning every curve, every bump, every wrinkle. I learned every sound you had in your repitiore and what they all meant. You and I worked hard on communicating with each other. It wasn't easy at first. I remember, vividly, wanting to somehow impress you. I needed you to believe in me, trust me that I could do this job, be your mother.


We spent every single minute together in those first days. I'd even cart you into the bathroom with me, swaddled and strapped securely in your car seat. What else was I supposed to do with you? Daddy had to go to work. I didn't dare leave you alone with a dog and two cats in the house. You were probably at least several weeks old before I dared to leave you sleeping in your bassinet while I ran downstairs to make you a bottle. I remember racing to the kitchen, getting half way through the adruous task of making a bottle (that took all of 1 minute) and then anxiety getting the better of me, I would run back to the bottom of the stairs and listen intently to make sure you weren't crying. Then I would hurry back to the kitchen, finish the bottle prep, and run back up the stairs to your side. You were two and a half months old before I ever let you take a nap in your crib. I had the baby monitor stapped to my hip and I still went up to your room to check on you and make sure you were breathing at least 6 times in your hour long nap.


Yes, you and I did everything together. The Christmas you were born nesting took over me and I decided it would be a good idea to dust off an old family tradition and make homemade eggnog on Christmas Eve, after church. I used to help my mom make eggnog when I was little, standing over the stove and stirring, stirring, stirring it for her. So, with you in your sling, I stood at the stove and stirred a large vat of eggnog for hours late into the night, eventually perching on a stool, stirring with one hand, cradling you and giving you a bottle with the other hand.

The video jumps to another scene of you in your pack and play. You are older here, by weeks. I have filled your pack and play with stuffed animals, a soft blanket, many hanging toys. You are achingly cute in a little pink hat with a teddy bear face on it, teddy bear ears sticking out the sides. Your little sweat suit has another cute bear on it, your pant legs have ridden up to your fat little knees. You have filled out. I remember how I could never keep your pant legs down. They would scoot up your legs in seconds. Those legs were in constant motion, bending and stretching. They end in adorable white bunny slippers on your tiny feet. The camera smartly zooms in on those bunny clad feet for a few seconds, just to rub in how unbelievably cute you are. And then I hear myself talking to you, cooing and making funny noises that you attempt to repeat. You swing and bat toward the hanging toys, still not able to actually make anymore than incidental contact, yet it's more than you were doing a few weeks ago. I am caught up in how beautiful you are. The most beautiful baby I have ever seen. I remember that was my first conscience thought of you when the doctor pulled you from me and held you up for my inspection. You are beautiful. And here, several weeks old, you are coming into your own. Your skin is perfect. You have a suitable layer of chubbiness filling you out. Your cheeks are blushing pink, your eyes a sapphire blue, your lashes miles long. Today, my heart longs to be able to cuddle that little baby one more time.

I've been reflecting on the fact that those first few days and weeks with you are a time in my life that I will never relive, never experience again. You are the child that made me a mother. That only happens once in a lifetime. If I ever give you a brother or sister, it will be special and miraculous in it's own way. But it won't be the same as those days with you. Every second was new, every breath a learning experience. When I watch you on video I can grasp those feelings. Exhaustion. Exuberance. Wonder. Sheer terror. Absolutely overwhelming love. I miss those days with you. Getting to know you.

But, my Chicaboo, I wouldn't trade a second of these nearly two years for anything. Every single day you manage to outdo yourself. You are a wonderful child. No, you're not a baby anymore. Not even a little bit. You are fully, wholly a child. You can do so many things by yourself. You learn new words everyday, I couldn't even attempt to keep count anymore. You have been sitting in your booster seat lately. We still have the highchair out, but I expect by your birthday I will tuck it away, another artifact of your babyhood. The attic is full of all the things you have already outgrown.

But, Baby, you will always, always be my baby. My angel. My gift from God. I am more thankful for you than I can put into words. I love you. You are my joy.

Love,
Your Mommy