letter to alice at five months

Dear Alice,

At the moment, you are sitting in your car seat on the dining room table while your father washes dishes. You are both listening to Dave Matthews, and I think that you're singing. These are the moments that I never expected, that I never imagined: the small instances when your presence makes our lives brilliant, beautiful, and poignant - like singing while washing dishes.

There are so many ways you have surprised me, even in the short five months you've been alive.

- You were not going to love music this early. With Chip for a father, I knew that you'd love music as soon as you could understand it, as soon as you could get your hands on an instrument - but I never expected your connection to music to start so soon. You are mesmerized by music. You love listening to it, singing along with it. You love when I sing you to sleep. You love when I sing made-up songs throughout the day. But most of all, you love listening to your daddy make music. He hypnotizes you with the guitar.

- You were not going to be a daytime napping baby. Your first few weeks convinced me of that. But slowly you're coming around to this whole idea of daytime sleeping. I know that we have a lot of work still to do - but I'm so pleasantly surprised that you're even taking 30-minute naps during the daylight hours. This is a new (and very welcome) gift that you've given me this month. Thanks to your Aunt Wendy, we're calling these naps "SNAPPERS".

- You were supposed to be an uptight baby, a fussy baby, a particular baby. I am all of these things: uptight, fussy, particular; and I figured that you would be, too. You aren't. You are so friendly, sweet, easy-going. You love to laugh and make spit bubbles and raspberries. You are making so many new sounds now, it's hard to keep track of them all.

- The sound of your sneeze is possibly the single greatest thing I've ever heard. I didn't expect to fall in love with a sneeze.

- You were not supposed to have blue eyes. We expected brown. Everyone expected brown. Your pediatrician told us in the beginning that they might change by the time you're a year old, but for now your eyes are blue. Pacific ocean blue. Gray blue. The blue of a Seattle sky just after it's rained.

- You were supposed to have dark brown hair. At five months, your actual hair color is somewhat undecided. We see auburn. We see light brown. We see... possibly some red. I tell you you're my rhubarb girl because I think your hair actually looks a little PINK sometimes. My punk rock baby.

- Alice, you surprise me every day. Your smile, your laughter, your joy at all the little things I take for granted (Like m&m's in a jar? Who ever would have thought that m&m's would be so totally captivating and HILARIOUS?)

Having a baby is a crazy/strange ride. I spent a lot of time anticipating things, expecting certain things to happen. I read a lot of books when I was pregnant. They prepared me for things like nursing and diaper changes and colic. They did not prepare me for the heart aching love I feel for you, Alice. They did not tell me that I would cry with you, that I would gladly put myself in front of a train for you. They did not tell me how amazed I'd be when you first turned over, or how I would cheer for you when you started grabbing things with your little hands. No book ever explained how I'd feel to see you with your fingers clasped together in front of you, looking like a thoughtful little young lady. There wasn't a single paragraph about how I would memorize every dimple, every little curve in your skin. In short, there isn't a book written that can properly put my love for you in perspective.

You are amazing.
Sweet.
Beautiful.
Smart.
Funny.
Observant.
Curious.
Expressive.

Perfect.

And I'm not the least bit surprised about that.

Love,
Mama