Dear Ellerie,
There has been a lot of change this week, sweet girl. First, Grandma left. Which was hard for her and hard for us. She really took care of us those first few weeks and I know for sure we wouldn't have gotten through it without her support. You're a tiny human, but absolutely demand a tag-team effort. And second, Dad came home! For good this time. He'll be home without deployments at least until you're four, Ellerie. Four. I can't even imagine you at four years old. I'm having a hard enough time believing that today you are four weeks.
We celebrated many firsts these past few days. First walk in the Ergo. (You slept. Dad, who carried you, got very sweaty. Mama, who wore new running shoes, got blisters.) First bath in the kitchen sink. (You were confused and slippery. Dad was calm. Mama was mildly panicked.) First bottle of breastmilk you actually took. (You drank quickly and earnestly. Dad felt proud. Mama held back tears.)
The walk and the bath were exciting, but you accepting the bottle felt huge and so bittersweet for me. In order for me to be good at this job of being a mama, I needed you to be able to eat with someone other than me. I have to admit, little one, that the idea of being the boob on call every few hours for the next 48 weeks terrified me. However, seeing you take a bottle and realizing you could get by without me was also terrifying. My back and forth emotions about this perplexed your dad. But the back and forth seems to be motherhood. It knocks you over and it picks you back up. All. Day. Long. I have been humbled nearly every day since you arrived, Ellerie. I do not expect this to ever change.
And yet, you, little lady, continue to change. You are a different baby than you were when Dad left, that is for sure. You've got more personality. More head control. More appetite. More awake hours. You also have learned how to scream. Your scream is intense and determined as you remind us that your third lunch is approximately one minute late. Your scream makes me want to run out and stock up on batteries and bottled water because surely, there is more behind it than hunger. Surely, the real reason you're screaming is because you've been tasked by NASA with notifying Southern California that there is a meteor headed right towards us. That absolutely must be it, sweet girl.
But even with the screaming, things are pretty good around here. We saw a lactation consultant and got a few tips on proper feeding and now we're so close to perfect. Even though the bottle is an option when we need it, you eat at the breast more often than not and I love it that way. I'd say we were "out of the woods," but I have begun to realize that parenting is "The Woods." The object is not to get out. Instead it's to clear away the brush and gather wood for a fire. It's to chop down a few trees and lay the foundation for a log cabin. It's to furnish this new home and sew quilts for the winter months. It's to plant a garden in the side yard and roast marshmellows in the evenings. Our short term goal, my sweet girl, as we slowly build our new cabin within The Woods is to survive. But the long-term goal is to thrive here. Your dad and I plan to stick it out and make a wonderful life for the three of us in these woods.
Ellerie, you challenge me. You amaze me. You frustrate me. You excite me. You're a special little girl and my favorite tiny person. Thank you for being you. Thank you for allowing me to still be me. I love you.
yours forever, Mama.
