Dear Kaylee,

I don’t know what made me think of it, but last night I suddenly remembered the look on your face the very first time I held you. You looked so upset, with your lower lip jutting out in a quivering pout, as if you couldn’t understand why someone would be so cruel as to force you into the world. It was so sweet and so surreal that I’ll remember it forever — the one crystal clear moment in the blur of activity that surrounded your birth.

Now that you’ve been out here for seven months, I find myself worrying more and more about all the ways the world could hurt you. And I wonder if maybe you weren’t the smarter one, wanting to stay in your cozy cocoon for a while longer, away from the escalators and the diaper rash and the people who hurt other people in random acts of violence. This place can be pretty scary, and I want to shelter you from everything almost as much as I want to send you out into the sun to live, thrive and play.

I’d better come to terms with letting you roam, though, because now you’re raring to go. You’re so close to crawling now; you raise up on your hands and knees constantly, rocking back and forth and strategizing the best way to reach that remote control or teddy bear. You scoot and you roll and you whine when you get frustrated, and every once in a while, you actually crawl a few inches. Then your face lights up with joy for a moment before you get back to work and try again. It’s only a matter of time before that light bulb clicks on and you suddenly realize the mechanics of crawling, and you’ll be zooming all over the house. We should really put a baby gate at the top of the stairs.

We had our first Thanksgiving together this month, and Christmas is less than two weeks away. It’s going to be a bittersweet holiday this year, because it’s the first Christmas without your grandfather, but it’s also the first Christmas we get to share with you. And trust me, we’re all looking forward to showering you with gifts. Yes, I know you’d be satisfied if we showered you with wrapping paper and napkins because they’re fun to rip, but sometimes a mom just has to buy her kid a Pound Puppy.

In about 15 minutes, I’ll leave work and go pick you up from daycare, where I’ll worry about slipping on the ice while I’m carrying you to the car, getting in a car accident, losing my grip on you in the bathtub at home, or accidentally letting you get your hands on something just the right size to be swallowed and lodged in your airway. But as much as I worry these days, I feel honored to have someone so wonderful to worry about. In the old days, my biggest concern was whether my favorite TV show would be a new episode or a rerun. Now my life is so much more fulfilling, and it’s all because you’re in it.

Love,
Mommy

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