December 2010 Newsletter: 16 months

Dear Morgan,
It’s been a crazy month, kiddo. A month that began with me over a hundred miles away in the hospital for two weeks and will end with five (count ’em, five!) family holiday parties within a three day period. It’s been so crazy, in fact, that I thought I might not write a letter this month. But then I read through some of what I’ve written in previous months and realized that there is already so much I’ve forgotten; little things that would have been gone forever if I hadn’t taken the time to write them down. And so, while this may not be the longest or most eloquent letter I’ve ever written, there are a few things I wanted to be sure to tell you.
First of all, I think you should know that I missed you terribly while I was away. In the days leading up to my hospitalization I spent a great deal of time just staring at you, memorizing your features once again: your chubby cheeks, your miles long eyelashes, the way your hair curls at the nape of your neck, the dimple in your left cheek that only appears when you smile just so. The first time I was away from you was when you were three months old, and I remember thinking it was the most difficult thing I’d EVER done. I told myself that as you got older, being separated from you would get easier but Morgan, I couldn’t have been more wrong. It hurt just as much this time as it did the time before and I image that it will always be hard, regardless of your age. You are so very much a part of me, I honestly don’t know what to do without you. As much as it hurts, I must say that I consider myself lucky to feel that way. It wouldn’t be nearly as painful if I weren’t fortunate enough to love someone so entirely. And that, my dear, is a beautiful thing.

Your dad brought you to the hospital on the weekends, and you were both able to stay there with me. You and I slept on the hospital bed, while your dad curled up on the pull-out loveseat. Those nights will forever stick out in my memory. You were exhausted – emotionally and physically – and you couldn’t seem to get close enough to me. You’d wrap your arms around me and nuzzle your face deep into my neck and I wasn’t allowed to move after that. If I did, you’d cry and hold me tighter. It was only after you had fallen into a deep sleep that I could move into a more comfortable position. At one point during your first visit, I had to go to the bathroom but each time I’d walk out of your view, you would scream and throw yourself onto the floor. I finally took you into the bathroom with me, but you still cried. It wasn’t until I pulled your right up onto my lap that you were content. So there we sat, face to face, smiling, peeing and being very much in love.

A big development this month has been the transition to your crib… again. There have been short periods of time here and there when you have slept alone, but for the most part you have spent the nights with your dad and I in our bed. While I was away, you slept in your cousin Ryan’s crib and the night I got home you pointed to your crib and excitedly said “Nigh-nigh?”. Part of me was heartbroken that you would actually ask to sleep on your own, but another part of me was so proud of you. You’ve been sleeping in your crib every night since then and, get this, you’ve even been sleeping in!  As much as I miss you being so close to me at night, I’m happy to know that you are comfortable in your own room.
Morgan, before I finish this, I want to say thank you. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for missing me while I was gone. Thank you for enjoying the snow so much and making me think that maybe, just maybe, it’s not so bad after all. Thank you for grabbing my hand, pulling me to the Christmas tree and telling me it’s pretty (“priptee”). Thank you for climbing into my lap and falling asleep while I do my treatments. Thank you for adoring Dixie the way you do. Thank you for singing to yourself in your crib before I come get you in the morning. Thank you for laughing so hard when we twirled around the living room singing “Let it Snow” the other night. Most of all, thank you for all the times you’ve made me look around and think this right here is all I ever wanted in life.
Merry Christmas, angel!

2 thoughts on “December 2010 Newsletter: 16 months

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