Dear Paxton,

I’m a liar.

The entire time I was pregnant with you, I swore I would never want to go through it again. Despite the constant comments, I was sure that I would never miss being pregnant and that I certainly wouldn’t forget how terrible I felt and want to have another one.

And a crazy thing happened… I started to pack away maternity clothes (pack them, not get rid of them).  And I felt a weird-indescribable twang (is that even a word?).  I find myself picturing you reading this, and I wonder… do you have a brother… a sister… both?  Did God bless us so much with you because that was it (which would be fine) or are we going to feel our hearts stretch even farther to add to our family someday?  Do we end up with 3 girls?  Do they all look just like your daddy?  Is it humanly possible to love another as much as I love you?  Your Grammy keeps telling me that the love you feel continues to grow, and that she loves you, her grandchild even more than her own child (which stings a little bit, I must say 😉 ).  I don’t understand how you could love a grandchild more than a child, but here’s my logic behind it…. When you have a baby, it takes the love you have for all people involved and combines it to create this beautiful person.  When you were born, it combined the love I have for your dad, my parents, my grandparents, your dad’s parents, his grandparents, etc…  If someday you have a child, all that love will multiply again.  It’s amazing how much the heart is capable of feeling.

I’m a liar.

I miss it.  It sounds so wrong to say that.  You are here and you are the single most incredible thing I’ve ever experienced.  I don’t miss the puking.  I don’t miss the pains.  I definitely don’t miss the fact that from 7 months on, your daddy had to tie my shoes for me.  I don’t miss knocking chairs over in my classroom or turning around too quickly and smacking students in the back of their heads with my ever-growing belly.  Sometimes you just have to laugh in order to survive. I don’t really miss the kicks (everyone told me I would).  I don’t miss wearing flip-flops in December because my feet were too fat to fit in anything else.  I don’t miss the elastic band at the top of my jeans…just kidding, I miss that something terrible.  (Those were the LAST things to get packed away).  I do miss knowing you were safe, you were protected, and you were going with me no matter where I was.

9 months… that’s a long time to carry anything, let alone a growing human inside of you.  It wasn’t like there was a backpack I could take off when the load became too much.  It wasn’t like a stack of books that could be divided between multiple people on days where you weren’t up to par and needed to hand a little off.  It’s all you, all the time.  9 months is a long, long time to be pregnant.

9 months… I guess it’s kind of a significant number for your daddy and me.  We dated for 9 months, we were engaged for 9 months.

9 months… that’s 3/4 of a year.  That’s how old you are now.  That means you’ve been here as long as I carried you.  That means I’m on my last sheet of “first year stickers.”  My last one.  When I put that 9 month sticker on your shirt, you will only have 2 more left before the one that claims you’ve been here for an entire year. But that time has flown by.  When I was pregnant, I COULDN’T WAIT FOR TIME TO PASS.  I would go to bed at 7, because when I was sleeping I wasn’t busy WAITING.  Life’s like that.  You look back and wonder where the time went and what you could’ve been doing with it.  Will we be blessed with another pregnancy?  I don’t know.  Whatever the case, at 9 months old you are changing every time I blink my eyes.

You have become a BUSY girl.  You never sit still.  Those feet are always moving, those fingers are always exploring.  Even when you are nursing, you are playing with my necklace.  I didn’t wear it one day and it definitely threw off your game.  You are not technically crawling yet… you army crawl, crawl backwards, and barrel-roll everywhere you go.  It takes you around, but I have a feeling next time I write you’ll be even more on the go!

You have two teeth on the bottom and one of your top front teeth is going to poke through any moment now.  When you smile, you always show them off.  That top tooth is giving you a run for your money.  You had a low-grade fever for several days and you’ve been going through 2-3 shirts a day unless we keep you in a bib.  Grammy says that some kids smile with their eyes, some with their mouths, but you…you smile with your entire body.  You smile, you kick your feet, you rock back and forth, and you do this crazy little snort that cracks me up.  It’s only fitting that you’re going to be a piggy for halloween. 🙂

You’ve started to imitate people.  You are getting pretty good at waving bye-bye.  Every morning when you wake up, you wave down the hallway at the baby (we have a really big picture of you at the end of the hallway).  I don’t know if you’ve picked up on this, but your mom kind of likes taking pictures of you.

Everything goes in your mouth.  Sometimes that’s a good thing.  You feed yourself now, and you mostly eat what we eat.

Sometimes it’s not such a great thing… like last weekend.  We were driving to Clinton for the Apple & Pork Festival.  It’s a big deal in Clinton.  It’s a big deal for me because I love to eat.  You were in your carseat and Jersey was in the backseat next to you.  Your Dad was driving and I was sitting with my knees touching the dashboard because your carseat is gigantic… even in our decent sized car.  We have started calling your carseat the pooping chair.  It never fails, I get you all dressed up and loaded up for a ride.  5 minutes into the ride, I start to hear the grunting.  I know this will embarrass you when you read it, but that’s what Moms are for.

Anyway, we start to smell something.  You dad is sure that it’s Jersey.  So we start to run through the possibilities.  What did she eat?  Is it her breath?  Does she need a bath?  I am pretty sure it’s you.  I start to run through the possibilities. What did you eat?  Is it your diaper?  Will you need a bath?  We continue to drive down the road.  Your dad looks back and says, “EEEEWW, what’s all over Pax’s face?”  Now, it’s next to impossible for me to turn around and see you with my knees on the dashboard, my seatback not just upright, but almost leaning forward, and my feet cramped in the 6 inches of free room.  But I perform a contortion act, and look at your face.  There are “chunks” of something all over your face.  I again ask myself, what did she eat?  Did she have prunes?  Did she throw up?  Wait…why isn’t it on her shirt?

I convince your dad to pull over.  We pull off to a little park in a tiny town right off the main road.  It takes me about 10 minutes to crawl out of the ridiculously small space I’ve shoved myself into, so your dad gets to you first.  He opens the door and says, “Jack (that’s what he calls me), you’re just going to have to laugh about this.”  Uh oh.  By the time I get to you, I’m amazed to see that you’ve pooped clear out your diaper, down to your ankles and that you’ve been having a good ole time kicking your feet in it, and then putting your feet in your mouth.  This is when it’s not such a good thing that everything goes to your mouth.

I kid you not, it took somewhere between 45 and 1,000 wipes to get you and the pooping chair cleaned up.  We threw your onesie away in the dumpster….that’s the kind of damage we’re talking about.  The car is airing out, you are on a blanket, I get you changed into a clean outfit and we are ready to load back up.  Then, we look over and see Jersey rolling in the remains of a dead animal that I couldn’t begin to identify.  It wasn’t warm that day, but we rolled into Clinton with the windows down.  Sometimes you have to laugh in order to survive.

You talk nonstop, nothing that we can recognize, but sometimes we think we know what you’re saying.  You are such a flirt.  Anytime you get near a boy, you go a little crazy.  Hudson is your main squeeze, but he’s not just any boy, he’s your fiancé.  That’s a big deal.

You wake up around 7, nurse, eat breakfast (oatmeal and a few pieces of a gluten-free waffle) and then go back down for a nap.  You typically take one bottle between 10:30-11,  and then eat lunch before going back down for another nap.  You have a light snack in the afternoon until I get home.  You nurse again, we usually go for a walk, and then you have supper between 5:30-6.  We like to play in your room and read until bath time around 7. You still are crazy about taking baths.  You splash like a wild woman, and you get mad when we get you out.  This is usually the only time I hear you fussy in the whole day.  For some reason you think I’m awful for taking you out of the tub, and even worse for thinking you should wear clothes to bed. Sometimes you just have to laugh in order to survive.  I love our nights together.  When the four of us are in your room, it just feels right.  You pull your dad’s hair and giggle, you roll over to me and reach your arms up for me to pick you up.  How did we get so lucky?  You are one incredibly happy little girl.  I don’t know how anyone could be around you and NOT smile.

Right now, I can’t imagine our lives being any more wonderful.  But you never know… I kind of miss the whole pregnancy thing…maybe, someday.

I had 9 months to grow you, and now I’ve had 9 months to watch you grow.  9 months… that’s a pretty incredible amount of time.

I love you,

Your mom.