Letter to Lucia: 12 Weeks
Little Lucia,
You’re three months old today, becoming more baby-like and less infant-like by the day. We’re marking your three-month milestone with a milestone for me, too: my first time alone with you overnight. Daddy’s on a business trip all day today and most of tomorrow, so it’s just you and me. Will you understand someday how scared I am about this endeavor? It’s such unreasonable anxiety—if you cry, well, you’ve cried before, and you always stop crying eventually. I’ve cleared my work schedule today so all I have to focus on is you. You, and maintaining my sanity. I’m fine so far and am determined to, as your dad so kindly says, “get out in front of it” should I start feeling overwhelmed.
You have a new trick: rolling over from tummy to back. You did this once or twice before Christmas, but now you do it consistently. You always look a little surprised when it happens, but today you looked a little pleased, too. When you’re on your back you can roll firmly onto your side—surely it’s just a matter of time before you’re even more mobile.
It was so much fun to have you with us this Christmas in Jacksonville and Connellsville, where you smiled and cooed and—we have many witnesses—said “Hi!” over and over again. You are getting very chatty in your charming baby way, and also quite good at mimicking facial expressions and sounds. You seem to recognize me and Daddy, too.
In the last two weeks you took six flights and handled them swimmingly—I hope you’ll be an excellent traveler, though I know we might have our challenges once you’re a toddler. Part of me (probably the part of me that thought having a baby wouldn’t be that hard) wants to believe you’ll be a champion traveler simply because your dad and I love to travel so much—that a kind of travel-grace will be in your blood. This kind of wishful thinking may last only until our next flight, but I can hope.
You are around eleven pounds now, and have outgrown your newborn-size sleepers. I’m sad to put them away—they seem so much a part of you—and it’s strange sometimes to see you in your new three-month outfits, as though you’re a whole new baby.
You’re napping right now. I’m determined to get you onto a nap schedule, for both our sakes, and have started to enact a naptime ritual consisting of feeding (if you’re hungry), swaddling, rocking, and a Calming Seas CD. You do love the white noise; it settles you in a way nothing else does.
It’s 10:30am, and the day stretches ahead, just you and me. Work with me here, my sweetie. Together we can do this.
You’re three months old today, becoming more baby-like and less infant-like by the day. We’re marking your three-month milestone with a milestone for me, too: my first time alone with you overnight. Daddy’s on a business trip all day today and most of tomorrow, so it’s just you and me. Will you understand someday how scared I am about this endeavor? It’s such unreasonable anxiety—if you cry, well, you’ve cried before, and you always stop crying eventually. I’ve cleared my work schedule today so all I have to focus on is you. You, and maintaining my sanity. I’m fine so far and am determined to, as your dad so kindly says, “get out in front of it” should I start feeling overwhelmed.
You have a new trick: rolling over from tummy to back. You did this once or twice before Christmas, but now you do it consistently. You always look a little surprised when it happens, but today you looked a little pleased, too. When you’re on your back you can roll firmly onto your side—surely it’s just a matter of time before you’re even more mobile.
It was so much fun to have you with us this Christmas in Jacksonville and Connellsville, where you smiled and cooed and—we have many witnesses—said “Hi!” over and over again. You are getting very chatty in your charming baby way, and also quite good at mimicking facial expressions and sounds. You seem to recognize me and Daddy, too.
In the last two weeks you took six flights and handled them swimmingly—I hope you’ll be an excellent traveler, though I know we might have our challenges once you’re a toddler. Part of me (probably the part of me that thought having a baby wouldn’t be that hard) wants to believe you’ll be a champion traveler simply because your dad and I love to travel so much—that a kind of travel-grace will be in your blood. This kind of wishful thinking may last only until our next flight, but I can hope.
You are around eleven pounds now, and have outgrown your newborn-size sleepers. I’m sad to put them away—they seem so much a part of you—and it’s strange sometimes to see you in your new three-month outfits, as though you’re a whole new baby.
You’re napping right now. I’m determined to get you onto a nap schedule, for both our sakes, and have started to enact a naptime ritual consisting of feeding (if you’re hungry), swaddling, rocking, and a Calming Seas CD. You do love the white noise; it settles you in a way nothing else does.
It’s 10:30am, and the day stretches ahead, just you and me. Work with me here, my sweetie. Together we can do this.
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