10.08.08 :: 7:08 am

Organize my world where it was pointless and chaotic…

Dear Oliver,

Today you turned 3 months old. I have bounced and walked you around this apartment ten times a day for the past 84 days and I would just like to know if you’re sleepy yet? No? Yeah I didn’t think so.

Though I should thank you for getting me back into my skinny clothes. Whenever anyone tells me they’re amazed that I got my body back so soon, I say, “You bounce and walk a 15-pound weight twelve hours out of every day and see how fast you’re whittled down.”

This month, you’ve been practicing your laugh and your babbling as well as being able to actually see things clearer, which means I’m going to have to bounce and walk you further away from the TV. I watched half of a horror movie with you in my lap this afternoon before realizing you were staring at the screen, and, well, I’m so sorry. I hope none of it registers. To be fair, I switched to Sesame Street and turned the volume up.

You’re becoming a bit more predictable in your routines and I don’t have to talk you down from utter hysteria nearly as much anymore. You can actually hang out now, little dude.
Hopefully, you’ll get the hang of how your thumbs work really soon so we can get some rattles added to your life. That would help me out a great deal. Whenever you’re ready. In your own time.
For now, we entertain you as best we can. Your dad popped a sheet of bubble wrap the other day and it clearly blew your little mind all over your face. It was pretty awesome to witness. Everything in this big bad world is so awesome and new to you and you love to show it.

I’m hoping your ever-increasing charm comes to good use later this month when you and I will be on a flight to New York. I say this because I suspect you will have at least one meltdown in those five grueling hours and I know how people get with regards to babies on airplanes.

Yes, Tater, we’re moving this operation to Brooklyn.
You’re going to love it there, I promise. There’s so much we want to show you. First and foremost, we’re buying you a stroller and taking you on proper walks around the neighborhood and Prospect Park. Every day. I want to make up for the three months you’ve spent as a shut-in here in LA. I apologize for that but our neighborhood is so cracky and I just can’t bear the thought of tarnishing your purity by subjecting you to the germs and drug zombies and criminals.

I absolutely cannot wait to watch you thrive and grow in my hometown. A Tater Grows in Brooklyn.
As we speak, your dad is there, looking for a house. I’ve told him specifically that he’s not allowed to come back without keys to our new place. I know, no pressure!
So it’s just you and me right now, for four days, and so far so good. You’ve let me pack a few things and you’ve only screamed at me once. But that’s because I made you sit in your sling and wait for the dog to poop outside and you just wanted to take a nap.

Today I looked at you and realized you’re just changing and growing so fast.
You don’t fit in your 3 month clothes anymore, especially your feetie pajamas. You’re like the Hulk busting out of those things.
Anyone who sees you says the same thing: “He’s SO BIG!” and you are. Your hands and feet are toddler-sized. I’m hoping you grow into them otherwise we’re going to have a shoe problem later on.

Already, you look like a little boy and it hasn’t even been that long since I cradled you small and fragile in a hospital blanket. You’re so not small and fragile anymore, as evidenced by your ability to stand with my help and kick harder than any living human.
What’s going on with the kicking, by the way? My sternum is so sore.
And I can’t believe this strength is all due to breast milk.

Oh, my little tater tot. You are my whole world, multiplied into infinity. There really aren’t any words.

I love you to pieces,
Mama

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