Mamaletter: Winter 2010

Dear Eva and Miles,

My loves, my babies. You could have pushed me over with a feather when they put you in my arms, sweet Miles. Yes, I was mondo beyondo exhausted, but I was also blown away by the fact that you were a boy. Your daddy and I were totally and completely convinced you were a girl. When you arrived, your daddy announced breathlessly, "It's a boy!" and could barely get the words across his lips before he lost himself in emotion. I can count the number of times I've seen your daddy cry on three fingers, the day you were born being foremost among them. We wanted you, oh, how we wanted you, my sweet baby boy.

And here you are, come to join our crazy racket. Several hours passed before your big sister came to meet you. Your daddy was holding you next to the bed where I sat. I looked up and called to Eva who came running across the room into my lap. A few minutes later, your daddy put you into Eva's arms where you snoozed peacefully as she cuddled and cooed and pawed at you. She calls you 'My Baby', and anytime the two of you are apart for more than 20 minutes, she'll come bursting into the room demanding, "Where's My Baby?" You are good-natured, content, peaceful, and at ease. You are a delight.

And you, Miss Eva, have been a study in the extremes of toddlerhood. The past few months have been spent in one of two gears. You are either the brightest, most colorful, and charming creature or you're the queen of discontent. There was a moment, a few weeks after Miles was born, when the two of us looked at each other knowing our relationship was never going to be the same. We needed to grieve over that loss in order to make room for something new, and it was brutal. Seriously, girlfriend, you and I had to endure some difficult moments that challenged us both, but we made it through. We always do.

I'd like to credit my fabulous parenting skills for our peaceful transition, but, frankly, I need to give credit to The Reflux. Most of our issues came while navigating the rocky terrain of sibling rivalry and jealousy. Naturally, it seemed impossible to figure out how to deal with your Mama spending all her time (time that was usually given to you) taking care of your brother. Each time I nursed or cuddled him, you would want to be right there with us. And by 'right there with us', I mean that you wanted to be in my lap along with Miles or, better yet, nursing and cuddling Miles yourself. All this pushing and pulling and needing and nagging made for some interesting hours on the couch until Miles resolved the issue for us. One massive puke all over your precious, pink Dora sneakers was all it took. It seems that no amount of heartbreak was worth risking another puke shower. Now, when I ask if you'd like to hold Miles after we've nursed, you flash me a look as if to say, "No thanks, Ma. I'm cool."

We're spending more time together at home, the three of us. I'm learning the art of putting my laundry away while Miles snoozes and you play dress up. You run into my closet, close the door behind you, and try on anything that will stay on your slight frame. Then you knock on the door.

Me: Who is it?
You: It's Eva!
Me: What do you need?
You: Open the door!
Me: What's the magic word?
You: Abracadabra

I couldn't have said it any better, my love. Our new life together is like Abracadabra. Magic.

Love,
Mama