Dear Cletus,
Congratulations! You are three months old tomorrow! You know what that means - it means that your dad and I have had you for three months and have managed not to maim/starve/overheat/underheat/underfeed/overwrap/burn/bite or beat you. Forget about you for a second - I feel like as parents, we're the ones who have reached a milestone.
You're pretty cute now, by the way - you're rocking the baby chub and your thighs and arms have rolls that the Pillsbury Doughboy would be envious of. You're smiling and gurgling all sorts of sounds. Your dad and I have no idea what you're trying to communicate, but they sound cute.
I must say, though, that you take up an extraordinary amount of time. I wake up every day and think of all the things I want to do before your dad gets home from work. This list usually involves showering, cleaning, laundry, perhaps some grocery shopping, and hopefully taking you on a walk or doing some exercise while you nap. Here is the way my days usually pan out:
6:30 AM - alarm goes off. Hit snooze button.
6:45 AM - alarm goes off again. Roll out of bed, stumble to kitchen, try to pour coffee into mug.
6:50 AM - realize we forgot to set the coffee timer the night before, so there is no coffee. Curse loudly since you are not awake to hear and wouldn't understand curse words even if you did. Make coffee.
7:10 AM - coffee is ready, pour cup, realize you are awake and your bottle is not ready. Curse again.
7:15 AM - get you up while your bottle heats up. Change your diaper, take you in to wake up your dad (if he is not already awake).
7:30 AM - your dad feeds you a bottle.
8:00 AM - you and I play while your dad gets ready for work. I look longingly at the kitchen where I know breakfast awaits me, but you cry if I put you down to make myself some cereal.
8:30 AM - your dad leaves for work. You and I stare at each other, taking the other's measure the way karate masters size up their opponents. I decide to lay you under your baby gym and risk your crying because I am starving.
8:31 AM - 8:35 AM - you scream because you feel I have no right to eat breakfast.
8:35 AM - 8:45 AM - you sit triumphantly on my hip while I try to eat cereal one-handed.
8:45 - 9 AM - I prep you and put you in your crib for a nap.
9:05 AM - you wake up screaming, a clear demand to be up.
9:15 AM - I realize you're not going to "cry it out" and go in to pick you up. You smile beatifically at me to reassure me that you're not really tired after all.
9:19 AM - you fall asleep in my arms.
9:20 AM - I put you in your crib to continue your nap.
9:30 AM - I shower, wash hair, put on clean clothes, and get ready to do some housecleaning.
9:45 AM - you wake up, dismayed to find yourself again in your crib, and commence screaming.
9:45 AM - 10 AM - I do my best to ignore your screaming as your father and I have said that we need to teach you to "cry it out".
10:05 AM - I pick you up since you clearly do not agree with us when it comes to self soothing. You continue to scream in my arms to punish me as I make your bottle.
10:15 - 10:45 AM - I feed you your bottle while you try to fall asleep while drinking.
11 AM - THE MOST MASSIVE POO EVER.
11:10 AM - I do a load of laundry that contains your clothes and my clothes that are now covered in poo. You watch me from your bumbo seat and giggle delightedly at your accomplishment.
11:15 AM - I discover poo on the couch cushion and scrub it with Oxyclean while mumbling curses.
11:30 AM - you get fussy and rub your eyes, but resist my attempts to put you in your crib for a nap.
11:50 AM - you fall asleep in your swing, where you can awaken at any moment to make sure I am still behaving.
12:00 PM to 1 PM - I try frantically squeeze as much housecleaning as I can into one hour before you wake up.
1 PM - you wake up and I feed you a bottle.
1:30 PM - playtime. As if to apologize for your behavior in the morning, you are particularly ingratiating with your coos and chuckles. I take pictures and send them to your dad on his phone so he will be jealous and think I am the perfect mother who has her baby completely under control.
2:00 PM - I attempt to make a PB&J sandwich with one hand, while balancing you on my hip. You decide that this is not challenging enough, so you keep jerking backwards to give yourself an adrenaline rush and also to work out my biceps as I keep you from falling to the floor.
2:15 PM - You get fussy and resist falling asleep.
2:30 PM - despite your best efforts, I triumph and get you to fall asleep. I put you in your crib.
2:45 PM - you awaken and are majorly pissed off to find yourself foiled again and in your crib. Commence screaming. I count the days until I can go back to work and feel jealous of your dad, who gets to spend his day talking to adults who don't require bottles and who presumably don't scream.
2:55 PM - I go in to check on you and you stop screaming when you see me and start smiling, even though I haven't picked you up. It's like you're saying, "Hey Mom. I'm not hungry, wet, or gassy, but I missed you. Please feel guilty that you put me in this stupid crib instead of holding me all day."
3:10 PM - I rock you to sleep and you go back in the crib.
3:45 PM - I congratulate myself on the fact that you have slept for over a half hour in your crib and text your dad to tell him we have made a breakthrough and you might learn to sleep in your crib after all.
3:47 PM - you wake up and are pissed that the crib has foiled you again. Commence screaming.
4:00 PM - I get you up and give you your bottle. As you eat, your eyes look at me reproachfully because I should know better than to ever put you down, ever, ever. I wonder how I am ever going to go back to work because in spite of your difficulties, I just love you so much.
4:30 PM - your dad gets home and you are all giggles and coos because you haven't seen him all day and I am chopped liver.
4:35 PM - I pour myself a glass of wine as I think of all the things I had planned to accomplish but somehow didn't get around to doing.
Ok, the days aren't always like that....but there are ENOUGH days like that to make me hope that you will someday invent something that makes you a lot of money so that you buy me a really big house that comes with a pool and a billboard that says, "Thank you for being such a great mom when I was a baby and didn't let you get anything done." Because goddammit, I'm doing my best, but it's exhausting.
You are pretty cute, though.
Love,
Your Mom
