Dear Jack,
We just got back from the Monument Cafe where we had breakfast. This was actually your second trip to Monument... we also went there last Thursday after your doctor's appointment. We also went out to lunch last Sunday to Mama Fu's here in town (which was fun and ironic since it was your one week birthday and we had eaten at Mama Fu's about four hours before you were born the Sunday before). We also went shopping at the outlet mall yesterday.
Everyone said that the second child is just different. They talk about the way parents rush to their first born every time that child so much as stumbles, and by the time child three or four come along, they let them juggle knives. Your father and I resented these tales. It makes it sound like parents protect or worry for their eldest better than subsequent children in a way that diminishes their care for their other children. Or, conversely, it paints a picture of a neurotic parent who doesn't know what to worry about and so they worry about everything for the poor, overprotected eldest and then suddenly become better parents in time for the later children. We would like to believe that we have been good parents for your sister and will continue to be good parents for you.
The truth is, though, that you are nine days old and have been out to eat three times, shopping once, and go for daily walks down the street in your stroller or sling. Your sister didn't even leave the house until she was two weeks old. Literally did not leave the house. (Okay, I think there were some doctor's appointments, but I resented the heck out them... didn't they know we weren't supposed to leave the house?)
What does this mean? I don't think it means we were overly neurotic with your sister. Lots of folks don't take a newborn out in those early weeks. I don't think it means we cared more for her well-being. I think it means that we didn't know in those first days of parenting what kind of parents we wanted to be. In the last two years, we have had a chance to reflect on our choices and decide that we don't want to be worried parents. We don't want to dwell on the half percent chances of terrible things. We want to live and love life without the burden of unnecessary anxieties. We aren't blind to the dangers of the world (no one will be juggling knives any time soon, for example), but we won't live in fear of the world either.
But I do really hope you didn't pick up the Ebola virus as I was nursing you in a fitting room yesterday. Really, really, really hope.
Love,
Mom
With that in mind, I really applaud your ability to sleep this peacefully...
... next to your sister playing with her toys, making up dialogue for Cookie Monster and Super Grover, slamming the top of the Ark shut, and making disagreeable grunting noises any time anything doesn't work right.
I know from having this struggle for over two months with your sister that 1) this too shall pass, 2) a slow start has nothing to do with future health, 3) it is possible to pump enough milk to sustain you and bottle feed you if needed, if that really matters to me, 4) feeding a baby formula is not the end of the world; it can just feel like it. I also know that when you are twelve or so and your father is having to make double batches of his King Ranch Casserole so that you can have your very casserole own to eat, I will laugh at the idea that there was a day when you didn't eat enough. But for right now, it's a little bit hard.
Dear Jack,
