Meet Peanut:

Oh my! I’m so sorry, Peanut! This was waaay back, before I had children, and I had the itch. I’m sure you know nothing about the itch, seeing as you’re a dog and all. But, clearly, one should never dress one’s Chihuahua/Yorkie mix in Warm Weather Tourist/Rain Gear.

1. You’re a dog.
2. You’re not a tourist.
3. You rarely spend time in the sun.
4. Also, you rarely spend time in the rain. You HATE the rain and would rather pee on the carpet. By the way I’m so over that, but now I realize you may be getting back at me and I kind of understand.
5. Because, obviously, I need to hear it again: YOU ARE A DOG. (Not to be confused with DAWG, which you are so not.)

Again, I’m sorry and I promise never to dress you in human clothing again. (I now realize human clothing is kind of redundant because HUMANS SHOULD BE THE ONLY ANIMAL TO WEAR CLOTHING.) Also? It only just occurred to me why you might be peeing on the carpet. If I promise never to have such a serious lapse in judgment again, will you please stop? Please? Remember: I can always take you to the shelter! (I kid. Only slightly. Maybe.)

It seems crazy to me that a year ago, practically to the moment, I had just pushed you out into the world and was drinking in your sweet face. The roundness of your cheeks, the crystal clear blueness of your eyes, the softness of your skin, the delicate rosebud of your lips, the ten perfect fingers and toes. You were so alert in that first hour after birth. You stared in quiet wonder while we snapped photos and passed you around the room. I was the last one to hold you which was probably a good thing considering I WOULD NEVER LET YOU GO AGAIN. With the birth of your brother, I was given the title Mother. With your birth, I grew into that role and realized what kind of Mother I want to be to you boys. You have forced me, very happily I should add, to grow and stretch in ways I never thought my person could handle. I am so very blessed that you have come into my life.

This past year you’ve gone from a sweet bundle of lump, very easy to entertain and care for, to a mobile, walking, talking (it’s mostly gibberish BUT STILL) baby with opinions! And lots of personality. I’ve been composing this post in my head for weeks, as I’ve watched you grow and change, but I can’t seem to come up with something perfect enough for you. I would love to capture a piece of your almost gone babyness and bottle it up on this web page forever, but despite all of our modern technological advancements, I can’t quite perform that miracle yet. I just can’t believe you’ve been in our lives for a year. It seems as though you’ve been here forever and life didn’t really begin until you arrived. So when words fail me, I’ll just say thank you. Thank you for choosing us, Baby Boy. You’re perfect.

Feeling cooped up in the house on a bright, beautiful, warm, Florida day (which pretty much sums up EVERY day in South Florida), the boys and I decided to head to a park near our development. I try to do this several times a week, if for no other reason than I like to be consistent. I’m also trying to make Friends with Kids because it would be nice to have play dates once in a while, but also to have Adult Conversation. Have I mentioned I’m really shy and I have a really hard time making friends? Turns out, people don’t ever get to know you if you don’t open your mouth and talk once in a while. Yeah! I know! I didn’t know either! Where was I? Oh yes, The Park!

We took lots of pictures, which wasn’t any fun at all because “Wait! Stop! I know you’re having fun, but don’t move so I can take a picture!” is surely annoying. All that stopping and focusing and setting up a shot resulted in a lot of these types of pictures:

There was still much fun to be had! Lots of swinging!

Much sand was dug!

The sand was a whole new experience for the baby. He didn’t eat any of it luckily.

There was lots of sliding down slides and jumping from high places!

There was also some relaxing, which was nice.

There was lots of moving from one place to another.

We had a pretty good time. Didn’t we, Baby One?

I think he agrees.

He used to carry handfuls of white, oblong pills in his pocket. This scared me because when he sat down they would fall out, leaving the story of where he’d been and what he’d been doing scattered around like crazy, white, mood-altering sprinkles all over the carpet. At least I always knew where he’d been. Whenever we were out with my family, in a doctor’s office, in the living room with a visitor, or even at some random appointment, I would have to pinch him, kick him under the table, address him in a voice dripping with the unsaid “Dude, you better wake the eff up right now or I will tan your hide” to keep him from falling asleep in his soup in the middle of a sentence. He wasn’t allowed to drive. Ever. He fell asleep. At the wheel. Thank God it was in our development, on our street no less, but still. People saw him. They complained to the security guard. Frankly, I don’t blame them. It was horrifying to watch, let alone to be the one who was responsible all the time. Passing out while standing up with the baby in his arms was an occurrence to numerous to count. Thankfully, Baby One only fell on the floor once before I realized I couldn’t leave him alone with the Baby, like, ever. I’ve lived that way for the past two years with him. Constantly monitoring him, being on Red Alert for something, anything, to go wrong. It’s not surprising that the last few weeks without Him were much easier than I had thought they would be.

But now he’s home and he’s a different person altogether. He has kept his word. He has attended a meeting of recovery every day since his arrival. He hasn’t drifted off while telling me something. He hasn’t denied my reality– No, baby, what you’re seeing isn’t real. It’s not there. It’s like this. . . The reality has been no less than fantastic. He hasn’t let me down. I’m impressed, but I’ve always known he’s had it in him. The man I met and fell in love with was this man, not the high, dead one. He works hard. He keeps promises. He is consistent. He is the father to his children.

However, I’m not inside his head. I can’t read his thoughts. Sometimes the internal change we feel takes much longer to see on the outside. And while there is many new and wonderful things to see and feel, I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. It will fall, it has to. Is that its shadow I see, falling across the lawn? I’ve realized, over the course of the last few days, that what “they” say is true: the addict’s family gets sick right along with him. Damn those experts for knowing their shit. I guess I need to practice some of that compassionate detachment that “they” are always saying such good things about. Whenever I get a whiff of a behavior that might be something he would have done a few months ago, I feel a rage so overpowering that I need a tranq dart in my neck. Being in this position is just so strange to me. I’ve been on the flip side of this very same coin many a time, but I’ve never been so close to another who has fallen and gotten back up again. I guess I now know how my family has felt for all these years.

I look forward to what may come with my eyes and heart open. The future’s so bright, I gotta wear shades.

My Snuggly Second Son,

All too soon you will grow up and come to realize that your letters are much fewer and further between than I ever intended them to be. What you may one day come to find out, should you have more than one child of your own, is that you will be far busier than you ever expected to be. At the end of the night, you may wish to do nothing more than curl up with your significant other and relax because you’ve just played 50 rounds of Cops and Robbers with your older son and fed, bathed, and pajama’d the baby. Oh wait! Maybe that’s just your mother. Or perhaps you will have a partner that might share the load of this work and you won’t feel quite as dog tired as I do now. Either way, you’ll come to find out that you don’t have as much time to record all the wonderful things your children do as you once thought you would. At least, I hope that for you. I hope you will be able to experience the heart-breaking beauty of your child’s eyes. The soul-tickling joy of your baby’s laughter. One day may you be in the presence of a parent-child love and you will finally understand. You will understand that writing these letters is only a glimpse into just how much I love you- that I could never fully transcribe the kind of feeling this is. But, again, I’ll always try. . .

January 20th, 2009 was the day that you finally crawled. After weeks of thinking about it and days of attempting to, but falling on your tummy, you actually made it across your bedroom floor. You were determined to reach my glasses, if only to put them in your mouth. You hollered the whole way, wanting me to pick you up, but I could see the immense satisfaction you held when you made it to the other side. I realized, as I watched you locomote across the floor, that this is what love is: Watching you do something difficult, something I could easily help you get or gain, but knowing how proud of yourself you would be should you do it yourself. I don’t think I’ll ever claim to know or understand exactly what love is, but I know this must be some small part of it.

These last few months have been about watching you discover. Your influence over objects, your power in the world, your feet, your brother. You have begun to notice it all and now, it seems, you want to be a part of it. There is a butterfly that hangs above your changing table. Every day you pull on its wings. Never fails to amuse you. During dinner time, you have found that with enough oomph you can make your sippy cup fly through the air. This cracks you up. Call my name, “Mama,” and you know that you are instantly picked up. Watch your brother and you are sure that you will be laughing in short order. It has been a great pleasure to watch you become an active member of your family.

You were the cutest damn dinosaur Halloween has ever seen this past Candy-Hoarding Season. We went for a huge hay ride all throughout the horsey part of town, stopping at almost every house for candy. There was a lot of people and even more kids, but you stayed quiet and nursed contentedly in the back of the trailer for most of the ride. Towards the end, you had decided that you had enough and we packed up your sugar-shocked brother and headed home to count all of his loot.

The rest of the Holidays passed in a most relaxing manor, so rare for holidays with our family. You weren’t quite yet up to the task of opening presents, but you were most definitely dazzled by the lights and noise of several of the toys you had gotten. Like your brother, your grandparents definitely over-indulged you in masses of toys. A ball-tivity center, several music-playing, crib toys, small race cars in fun, bright colors, and lots of stuffed animals were just parts of your stash. For the last few weeks, it has been easy to distract you with one of your favorite toys: a baby basketball net. It cheers you on when you make a basket and you are particularly enchanted with the figure of a little baby on the backboard. I think you like him the best.

You may or may not be interested to know that you’ve outgrown your entire stash of cloth diapers! So many nights I worried my nails to nubs, concerned that you weren’t getting enough milk. Because of a breast reduction when I was 19, we had a rocky start to our nursing relationship. We have visited many lactation consultants and many doctors, but we’ve finally found the right combination of Domperidone and solid foods to make it work. And it really does work because it’s the only thing that’s guaranteed to calm a crying spell or put you to sleep. In fact, it’s the only thing that puts you to sleep and it’s what you do all. night. long. It’s a good thing I’m a pretty heavy sleeper. It brings me immense amounts of joy and relief to be able to bite your chunky thighs and breathe in the baby scent trapped in your neck rolls.

This is the new face you like to make. Along with it, you say, “Ohhh.” Just like you know exactly what I’m talking about. Even if you don’t, and I suspect you do not. But! It’s really cute and it makes me feel like you are paying attention to everything I say.

Yesterday, as my mom leaned in to give your a kiss hello, you made a smacking sound with you lips. “Mmmwah!” It sounded just like you were giving her a kiss back and until someone proves otherwise, I will believe that is exactly what you are doing. You were quite proud of the new noise you could make and all of the excitement that followed when you did it, and you spent much of last night Mmmwahing. I truly believe that you can feel all the love and good feelings that your family has when we’re around you. I also believe that you are giving it back to us because you know how good it feels. Here’s a secret: Your grandfather, Cookie, turns into a total mush-head around you.

Your father has been in the hospital for the month of January to help himself become a better father. This means that your grandparents (Cookie and Granny) have been coming over in the evenings to help out with dinner and bath time. The bath has just become an extension of the play room. The entire family piles in the bathroom to watch you and your brother play in the tub. Between fits of giggles, I manage to clean your near-bald head and scrub your delicious neck rolls. The Bug’s bath toys are a joyful diversion while I manage to clean up your brother. It’s a special time and I can see how much love you have for each other. So consumed, you brother is, with making you laugh.

If there was one person who might possibly be more proud of your accomplishments than I am, it would be your brother. He positively rejoices when you achieve anything new. Crawling? He was your cheerleader every step of the way. He’s currently showing you how standing up and walking is done so that you’ll be shortly ready to enter a marathon. You should be aware that I am not ready for you to walk just yet. I’ve only just barely gotten over the fact that my! baby! is! crawling!

See? He completely adores you. As does your mama.
I love you, sweet boy.
Mama
xx