Letter to Sydney - 7 Whole Months

Dear Squid,

You are almost 30 weeks old now. That's just over 7 months. People warned your Daddy and I that you would grow up fast and to make sure not to take your babyhood for granted. I've done my best to notice and appreciate every gurgle, every coo, every smile and every new trick you learn. I don't want to ever forget Baby Sydney. It sounds like I'm mourning your death. I know - overdramatic Mommy over here. But understand that we've had quite the week...

Mommy has been on the brink of a real, live panick attack with the realization that you are growing up and gaining some independence. This week we did what the doctors like to call "Sleep Training". It's the PC term for "Almost Killing The Mommy By Letting The Baby Wail Until She Falls Asleep." Other parents as well as your Pediatrician have been telling me for months now that I needed to let you cry rather than feeding you the 2, 3, or 4 (YES FOUR!!) times you woke up at night. They said that you weren't hungry or hurt, and that I just needed to teach you how to sleep through the night. The promise was that you'd get the point after three nights and then we'd all be able to sleep peacefully through the night. I have followed my God-given Mommy-to-Syd instincts in not attemping this until now. Some thought I was nuts because of all the sleep I was sacrificing and, well, I don't blame them because I suppose I was technically nuts. Mommy doesn't do well while sleep deprived. The truth was that I didn't feel you were ready but mostly I just wasn't ready. I decided I was ready when I was able to admit that I was sometimes walking, sometimes talking (but mostly crying) wreck. The pros outweighed the cons in this situation. If what the Doc was saying was true - that you would in fact sleep through the entire night if I endured 3 nights of misery - then you would have a much better mommy to play with during the day.

Well...IT WORKED.

You actually didn't cry much at all compared to the nightmare I had imagined in my head, but it did still almost kill me. Not only did your cry close-to-convince me that I should be imprisoned, but I was tempted to wake you up and bring you in bed with me when you were peacefully sleeping. I would lay in bed with twinges of anxiety about how you were obviously not even a baby anymore if you could do without me for the ENTIRE night, and about how you would be leaving me to go off to kindergarten soon (pink backpack and all) and about how we only have .33 cents in your college fund account.

At this moment I am watching you sleep via our cool video monitor (thanks Uncle John and Auntie Annabell!!) You're on your belly with your arms under you and your pudgy, roly-poly legs sprawled out. Your hair - oh YOUR HAIR - it's completley messy and fluffed out in its perfect craziness. You are more amazing, more awe-inspiring, more beautiful than I could have ever imagined my child would be...more than I could have imagined any child could be. My heart burns with love for you. It actually hurts sometimes, but in that good way. I'm not sure if it's normal to experience this (your Aunt Juli is the only other person who has admitted to having the same problem, and you know by now that neither of us is an accurate picture of normal), but sometimes when I look at you every part of me stings with love and adoration for your crazy stinking cuteness, and I have an undeniable urge to bite something - very hard. So that explains why I walk around the house with one of your binky's in my mouth. It's much safer for all living organisms around here - namely you and your father.

Here are a few tidbits about who you are, my Baby Sydney...because I never want to forget.

You have many interesting modes of communication, and you are continuously discovering new sounds to make. The Growl is a popular one, although I've noticed it's usually reserved for the Grandparents. You use The Growl when Grandma Janice and Grandpa Steve come over, and then again the growling is kicked into overdrive with Grammy Glenda and Pa come to visit from Washington. Not sure what that's all about. Then two weeks ago, you started making a new noise. This one is quite indescribable, but you make it when you're happy. It's also indistinguishable from the noise the neighbor's mating cats make.

Hmmm.

Then there's The Pant. You pant when you're extra excited, and it sounds like fast breathing with an extra oomph. Another cute new noise has been a gurgling noise that your Grandma Janice and I have both tried to duplicate unsuccessfully. You're quite talented, although Daddy says you just needed to find something to do with all that drool.

You are fearless. Your favorite thing to do is to be swung (quite aggressively) through the air and tipped upside down. Today I hung you from your toes and you squealed with so much cuteness I thought I'd burst. Sometimes when Daddy gets home from work he flys you around the house like an airplane, using the table, kitchen counter, couch, and beds as landing pads. Your giggles are so irresistable that I have to remind Daddy what your poop smells like to keep him from gobbling you up.

You are the most social baby I have ever met. You want to be in contact with an attentive human face at all times. This means that if Mommy has to use the bathroom, you're one big fussy pants unless she leaves you in front of Rachael Ray or Dr. Phil. You are seriously like magic though Syd - like some kind of Happy Pill for The Universe. There have been countless times I've walked you in coffee shops, grocery stores, etc. only to see the faces of tired, worn-out, depressed people turn to joy as they see how happy you are to see them. I've been carrying you around in the front pack a lot lately. Your arms and legs bonce and jiggle and you pant with excitement the moment you see someone - ANYONE - walking even remotely in your direction. It's amazing and all is right in the world when that person actually realizes you are talking to them and acknowledges you with a smile and an, "awwwwww!" But when that person doesn't acknowledge you, well, I haven't figured out how to explain to you that not every person came to Barnes and Nobles just to play with you. How dare they.

I love you more than peanut butter,

Mommy