Putting in the Time

Dear Jack,

You are now pretty much over the double ear infection that kept you (and at least one of your parents) home all week long. You were mostly a real trooper about the whole thing. You played happily all day long, ate just fine, and took your naps without any real trouble. But at night, you really weren't able to get to sleep and stay asleep like you needed to and so you and I had a lot of late nights this past week.

I will freely admit that being up and down with you all night long almost every night this week was difficult. In fact, it got more and more difficult as the week wore on because around Tuesday, I came down sick myself.

Because it was such a long week, I'm not sure which night it was that I was rocking you and you were screaming and I knew you were tired and just couldn't get to sleep and as I was rocking back and forth, wishing desperately that I could be asleep, that it came to me.

The rocker. The one that I was rocking you in. I had bought it when I was pregnant with your sister. It was around two or three hundred dollars because it's something of an antique. I didn't care about that. I only cared about having a nice wooden rocker. The trend these days is towards those cloth covered glider rockers, and honestly, they work better and are more comfortable. But they don't store well in garages or attics, and they don't last more than a few years, and I wanted a rocker I could point to and say, "That's the rocker I rocked my babies in." So I used some of the money that Aunt Mary Lou left for me to buy just the right wooden rocker, even if that meant paying more than I should have.

So I had the rocker. The one that I could point to and say, "That's the rocker I rocked my babies in." Only, your sister didn't much like to be rocked. So it was really just "the rocker I bought when I was pregnant." And then there we were, two in the morning, you were screaming, and I was bleary-eyed, and I thought to myself, "I'm putting in the time." The time rocking you that would allow me to point to that piece of wooden furniture and say, "That's the rocker I used to rock Jack in when he was sick." It wasn't fun and it wasn't easy, but it's the trial of it all that makes the statement have so much power.

Somehow, that made it all better. And now that the week is over and your ear infection is being treated with antibiotics and you are all better, I really am glad that I put in the time.

Love,
Mom

He Might Be a Genius

Dear Jack,

I know I'm very biased and all,

but I happen to think you are pretty darn smart for your age.

Love,
Mom

Libby

Dear Jack,

Who is this lady who makes you so happy?

That's your sitter, Libby, of course.

I know that you will barely remember her when you are grown, but she takes care of you and your sister every day while I'm at work, and it made me sad when I realized I had never gotten a baby picture of your sister with her, so I made a point to get one for you.

Love,
Mom

Visit to the Children's Museum

Dear Jack,

I keep asking myself if I really intend to maintain separate blogs for you and your sister. There are days like this past Saturday when we all went to the Children's Museum and it seems that one post would do.

But then I write the post on your sister's blog, talking about all the cool exhibits at the museum and I realize that your experience was completely different than hers.

She played with cool things and got to experience what they could do. You got to play in a cool environment and were free to experience all the things you can do.

Because of the perfect height of the dividers, you could bend down to pick up toys.

You crawled all over the place.

You (and your new best friend), crawled up and over "barriers."

And you learned to let go with one hand to switch which side you want to hold on to.

You are so impressive to me, sweet boy. You are eight months old as of yesterday, and already you have so much movement in you. I look at you trying new things and pushing the limits of your physicality and I marvel.

But do you want to know my very favorite part of the museum experience with you?

Holding you while you slept, of course. You may be going places, but you still come back to your mama when it's time for snuggles.

Love,
Mom

Weathering the Storm

Dear Jack,

Today at school, someone was commenting on my particularly challenging class this year. Last year, I had nine sweet children and teaching was a breeze. This year, I have my hands more than full with the twenty-one children in my room.

I told that person that I truly believe that when life is easy (like it was for me last year), it means that God is giving you a calm before the storm. I was so scared during the pregnancy that you were going to be my storm. That something was going to be physically or medically wrong with you.

So when this person said they were amazed at how happy I seem to be at work, I told her that I am happy. I love my students... even (especially) the difficult ones and every day I come to school, I thank God that I have a happy, healthy baby at home and that they only storm I have to weather daily is some troubled students at school.

Of course, I didn't really get into it with my co-worker that weathering the storm of losing your Uncle James and now having my friend Kara hospitalized in critical condition is a little different. Still, I have you, and your sister and your father and that makes up for so much. Not to mention all of my friends who offer their support in so many ways.

And weathering a storm is so much easier when you have the right people with you.

Especially when your people are this cute.

Love,
Mom

To Sleep, Perchance to Dream?

Dear Jack,

How did you sleep last night? I have to ask because I wasn't there. I was off in my own room, in my own bed. I did come and bring you a bottle when you asked for it at four in the morning, and I did hear you playing at seven, right before I came and got you.

Was it neat to sleep overnight in your own crib in your own room with your sister?

I hope so, because I plan on having you do that more and more often.

Love,
Mom