dearest daughters

More on Introversion

Dearest Daughters,

I've been attending a mindfulness class on Wednesday nights. This is a good thing because:

1) I am doing something for myself, by myself, period.

2) I am expanding my understanding of the mindfulness and meditation practice that I began a few months ago.

3) In his support of my efforts to care for myself (when I finally and sincerely ask), your Dad has committed to come home a bit early on Wednesdays and spends time alone with you playing pirates or Just Dance or, as the case was last night, indoctrinating you into the world of professional sports fanaticism. [Go, Giants!]

On my way home from class last night, my radio tuned to public broadcasting, a serendipitous TED Talk about introversion was playing.

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Turns out it was by the same woman who wrote about Rovers and Sitters in the New York Times last year (remember when I wrote about that?) And continuing her line of research about the value of introverts, she published a book earlier this year: Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking. (Adding that to my reading list.)

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The introvert and academic in me had me bounding into the house to tell your Daddy all about the science and psychology and general amazingness of introverts. But, I'll spare you the animated synopsis and just let you watch the TED talk itself:

After spending the evening in a bit of solitude of my own (albeit amongst meditating strangers), this was a nice bookend to my day.

Like the talk says, we live in a Culture of Personality, not a Culture of Character. So, sometimes it takes some mental and real work for not only society, but little ol' me to stop self-negating, to value myself as I am, stop forcing myself into another mold, embrace the contents of my "suitcase," find my own time alone in the woods or a class or running or just staring into the abyss.

Dearest Daughters, come stare with me? According to Susan Cain, it'll do all of us some good.

Love,

P.S. Bearing in mind the fact that I am raising at least one introvert (in addition to caring for myself):

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Happy Internet Things

Dearest Daughters,

I'm not so great at keeping up with "Internet Things" as Auntie Ninang Katherine calls them because she's even worse at paying attention to honey badgers and PopTart cats.

Lately, I've taken more intentional time for myself, weaning myself from said Internet Things and the reading of blogs and the window shopping I used to do on. the. daily.

Your dad keeps up with Internet Things like it's his job, well, because it sort of is. He tends to like all the People Falling on Their Faces and Cool Dance Moves kind of Internet Things. But, once in awhile he'll show me things that he thinks I'll like, that is to say: uplifting, not embarassing, political neutral, fuzzy happy space things.

There's a lot on the Internet. A lot of crap on the Internet too. And if you even dip your toe in, with the best of intentions of reading just that one story or looking at just that one squirrel meme, you can get so lost and end up wondering how you watched five hours worth of YouTube videos.

So I'm glad your daddy wades through the Internet and filters out the best for me. He's like my own personal search engine.

And I know I'm a million years late in Internet time, but I wanted to share some things that not only make me laugh, but make me feel good inside.

Did you know the Internet can do that? It can do more than just make you feel Pinterest inadequacy or viral-human-rights-jump-on-the-band-wagon excitement?

Here are some of the Internet things I like to watch when I need a little pick-me-up. Again, they're like a million Internet years old, but if it ain't broke, don't fix it.

1. Marcel the Shell with Shoes On

2. Mister Rogers Remixed

(And for some OG Mr. Rogers feel good, there's his theme song.)

3. Som Sabadell orchestral flash mob

4. B*tches in Bookshops

5. The Parent Rap

6. Babies Movie Trailer

(The whole movie is worth a watch, but this is good for a quick baby-fix.)

Hope something up there ^^^ put a little pep in your step this lovely Friday!

Feel free to leave a comment to share your favorite Internet Thing.

Love,

Alternative Anxiety Aids

Dearest Daughters,

If you’re anything like me, you may one day come to struggle with anxiety.

Anxiety is not merely worry. It’s not even elevated or uncontrolled worry. It is another animal altogether.

In my experience, anxiety is what comes from an inability to process and handle stressors; it is what happens when you repress feelings and emotions; it’s a modern malady stemming from your body’s evolutionary fight or flight response that still fancies itself being chased by lions and acts accordingly, undiscerning of first world versus real world problems; it is your body’s way of telling you that shit ain’t right, lady, and you have to step back, take it down a notch and get back to basics.

At first, I felt I needed to combat anxiety, but the truth is, one needs more than anything, to accept it—both as a human condition and in the moment.

Before I was able to see a psychiatrist to get the help I dearly needed (in the form of pscyh meds, of course), I was so desperate. I was in the midst of despair and inner turmoil and willing to try anything to make my pain go away.

The saying goes: desperate times call for desperate measures.

I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again: mindfulness and meditation (via Jon Kabat-Zinn’s Full Catastrophe Living) truly saved my life. It guided and supported me through depression and anxiety, through some very intense feelings, including suicidal thoughts.

In retrospect, it was stupid not to go directly to the emergency room and receive some form of drug that would have quieted my mind and staid me until my appointment with a psychiatrist. (Though, if I recall correctly, I was unwilling and practically unable to unfurl myself from a fetal position, shut into my room. My family would have had to drag me into a hospital at that point. And I would have been confident that the car ride, alone, would kill me.)(I was, using mindfulness techniques, eventually able to quiet my own mind enough to make the walk to my parents house, the fifteen minute drive to the psychiatrist—though I was still a big, hot, trembling, sobbing mess.)

But, on the other hand, without that pervasive sense of desperation, I might not have been willing to try some of the different, sometimes strange, out-there, unconventional ways to address anxiety.

If life isn’t so bad for you (or you don’t think so), the things I recommend, below, may make you chuckle, feel uncomfortable or make you shout out: “that crazy, crystal-toting hippie!” But, trust me, if you are in so deep, like I was, or are just a naturally open person, you’ll know it doesn’t hurt to try something new and different to help oneself.

1. Mindfulness/Yoga/Meditation – there’s the book I recommended, above, by the guru of mindfulness. He has written others. All based in scientific methods and research. See this video for a primer and short practice of mindfulness.

2. Affirmations – the first time I listened to an affirmation it was one about weight-loss that my therapist accidentally sent me. The funny thing is that it didn’t matter. Maybe I didn’t need to repeat after the weight-specific parts, but it’s clear that we all, at base, have the same issues—around loving and caring for oneself, confidence, fear of rejection, perfectionism, etc.—and it was truly an affirming experience that validated many of the thoughts and feelings I never knew I had.

Moreover, listening to affirmations, once you get over your own uncomfortable self-consciousness, can be very relaxing. Not only the soothing voice, but over time, just hearing the music and voice triggers relaxation. Our minds and bodies are undoubtedly connected and there are guided imagery (which I don’t like, but maybe you will) and affirmation programs for almost any condition. Here’s programs for a variety of health concerns from Kaiser-Permanente I like.

3. Rescue Remedy Spray – recommended to my future-sister-in-law by a good friend of hers and then the very next day, my therapist recommended it to me, this herbal mouth spray (and there are a few other kinds and brands at Whole Foods) engages the sense of taste and smell to trigger relaxation. While mindfulness is find and dandy for someone so cerebral like me, often sight, sound and taste work faster, in terms of communicating to your brain to calm the heck down.

My therapist points out, something like this isn’t going to make you feel better three hours from now, but it stops you in the moment, does it’s brain-communication thing, refocuses you. (I’m trying to use this to replace or in conjunction with my urge to take Xanax—you cruel mistress, you—in stressful situations.)

4. Aromatherapy – similar to how the spray, above, works, except it’s all nostril and no tongue. I use the scent of lavender during the day to trigger a sense of calm (like above: redirection, refocusing) and chamomile to trigger sleepy-time relaxation at night. I like The Body Shop’s line, but you can find aromatherapy supplies other places and at Whole Foods or online.

5. Gum – this was a real nervous energy buster when I first started driving again. It was just something to do to keep my mind in the present and off of negative, spiraling thoughts. Sort of a mindfulness technique I guess.

6. Running – I’ve written about that before as another way to release anxious energy before it takes over my brain.

7. Keeping it Real – related to all of the above: mindfulness and affirmations and taking action for oneself, I find that the emotional coaching that I and Bel have been doing together has really helped me to “get over” or ride my waves of anxiety until I, recently, find them to be non-existent.

At my first pang of anxiety or wave of adrenaline, I don’t run in fear. We, both, are learning to observe the feeling, name it, determine its root cause and, perhaps, think of a solution. I find, sometimes, that what I thought I was anxious about really wasn’t what I was anxious about. Sometimes, I’m just dehydrated or have a headache. Sometimes, it was something beadle said or something I did.

In addition, learning to let go helps a lot too. Letting go of control, perfection, performance, appearance and sometimes civility. And just saying to myself, “this is me and this is all I am and nothing more” eliminates the pressure and stress that feeds anxiety. Research shows, self-compassion can go a long way.

What, why and how some of these approaches work is beyond me and isn’t really my concern, so long as they keep working!

With all of the above suggestions, what remains super-important, is that you’re taking action to DO something for yourself. Even some studies show that doing something (even in the absence of positive thinking, even if you know or believe it’s a placebo treatment) is better than doing nothing at all.

So, go do something for yourself!

Love,

The Non-Runner’s, Undisciplined-Person’s Guide to Running or [insert form of exercise here]

Dearest Daughters, 

When my therapist suggested I started running, I laughed in her face. I heard her out and humored her with a: sure, yeah, right, Sparky.

But, then I thought about what she said and figured: what the heck? And I tried it.

I’ve been running for about a month now. And I aim to do it 4-5 days per week. Sometimes it happens, sometimes it doesn’t.

Here are four things that helped me, a very undisciplined, non-runner, non-athlete, sedentary-lifestyle-activist:  

1. Authentic Motivation and Reframing

It sounds simple, trite, even, but you have to tap into your unique motivation for running. If you’re running [or insert any form of exercise here] because you think you should, because someone else thinks you should, because that’s what healthy people do, etc. then you won’t be running for long.

Maybe you have had some life-altering experience and you truly are a convert to exercise for the sake of your heart or your waist-line or for the feel of the wind in your hair? Perfect. More power to you. You’ll probably stick to it.

But, every time I’ve attempted exercise out of a vague concern for my “health” or to get rid of that (second) baby fat or to get ready for that Hawaiian vacation, I’ve given up before I’ve even started.

What worked for me was reframing running altogether, not as something I have to do and hate doing, but as something I choose to do for a couple of very simple reasons.

One: I get time to myself, dedicated to myself and not a damn other soul.

And two: because I have anxious energy to burn.

While those reason certainly have to do with my mental health, they don’t have anything to do with my physical health. While physical health is certainly important, it isn’t a HUGE concern for me. I’m not overweight. I don’t have any health issues. I don’t really care how I look in a bathing suit.

What I’m trying to say is that in order to have any stick-to-it-ness, I had to reframe and find what was truly my own, singular and authentic motivation: my mental health.  

2. Small Steps

I’m a perfectionist. You probably aren’t. But for me, where I failed before in running or any other temporary athletic pursuit I’ve had (spinning, yoga, eliptical-ing, weight lifting, aerobics-video-ing) was in thinking I had to run the whole mile, hold the downward facing dog the longest, lift the maximum weight. I was in a competition against myself. Or, okay, maybe everyone else in the room, because I self-consciously imagined they cared or noticed what I was doing.

But, I’m not perfect. (Ding, ding, ding!)

It’s not a race and I can stop whenever my body tells me to. And I actually listen to what my body, not my mind tells me.

So, I don’t run for miles. Only blocks. I don’t run for hours. I don’t have time for that. I roll out of bed, taking advantage of the time beadle spends with the Dearest Daughters in the morning before he leaves for work. I walk for five minutes, run for ten minutes and walk for another five. There’s some stretching in there too somewhere.

And while I’ve pushed myself a little over the past month, it was ever-so-slowly. Again, only an extra block or two at a time. More out of curiosity about the houses and landscaping in the 1400 block, than out of any personal determination. (Note to self: further motivation can be found in home and landscaping snooping.)

And if I don’t feel like taking the longer loop, because I went hiking over the weekend and my legs are sore or because I haven’t been running in a few days, I don’t, dang it.

Only yesterday, I finally downloaded an app to tell me the distance I’ve been running. I’ve been doing the same mile and a half all month. And I’m not at all disappointed. Or concocting plans to out-do myself, despite what the running app yells at me!

3. The Cool Stuff

Okay, so maybe I only run a mile and a half. And when sales people ask me if I’m a runner, I tell them “not really.”

Nevertheless, I buy the cool running iPhone armband from them. And the moisture-wicking, light as a feather running apparel. And the comfy socks. Maybe because I’m consumeristic? Or maybe because it makes something totally unpleasant feel special and fun. And, again, just for me!

Source: fashion.onlineline.net via Onlineline on Pinterest

 

And sure, it cost my day’s wages and my Dearest Daughters will have to eat meat-less spaghetti, but, dang, Mama be lookin’ goooood running down our street.

Source: store.apple.com via AppStorm on Pinterest

 

And Americans eat too much meat anyway.

4. Grace

This kind of goes back to #2, above, but now that I don’t see running (or exercise) as a Should Do, a Have To or a Goal, I’m less extreme about it.

Before, it was either I Am Someone Who Exercises or I Am Not Someone Who Exercises.

If I don’t run for a week, because I feel shitty, it’s okay. As soon as I can pull myself together, I can hit the pavement again. If I want. And because I’m not such a Self-Dictator anymore, I probably will want to, of my own volition (see #1, above).

I’m not boldly declaring myself a Runner here, to you, to everyone I meet, setting myself up for failure, disappointment or embarrassment when and if I “stop” running.

If next month is a crappy disaster and I can’t find time or motivation for running, I’m not gonna be like: um, yeah, about that, I don’t do THAT anymore.

I know there is grace and I can always take a “pause,” and get back on my feet again, walking, running, skipping or jumping—however the heck I want to spend my fifteen minutes to myself.

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So, am I a runner? No.

Am I an expert? Far from it.

Am I an athletic evangelist? By no means.

But, I’ve learned this much about myself over the past month and I hope that it’s helpful to you, my Dearest Daughters (one of whom, at least, is bound to take after me) and to, you, my Dearest Readers, any of whom may deal with anxiety or other mental health issues or physical health issues. Or, who like me have followed the general policy of "Exercise? You can get hurt doing that!"

Love,

In full disclosure...

I was all set to publish the post below about identifying the positive parts of my life on Thursday morning. But, after another panic attack at home on Wednesday afternoon, a rough and hopeless couple of days followed, so I never posted it.

Today, I'm out of bed, finally got to a therapy session and my babies are back to visit me for a few hours (they've been under the care of a village of friends of family while beadle stayed home to support me). (I couldn't bear to hear their voices or cries for me through the bedroom door; it worsened my anxiety and a sent me spiralling into inescapable thoughts and feelings.) But, they're here now. And cuddling. And puzzling. And I'm coping.

Heavy sighs and continued prayers.

Also: will take a short blogging hiatus.

Thanks for all the love and support. I am very very truly blessed to be loved by so many and to have the "troops" that rushed to our aid over the past two days.

In the meantime, here's the thing I wrote before, a reminder that there will be a whole lot of ups and downs, steps forwards and backwards, just plain good days and bad days, and it's all part of the process.

Dearest Daughters,

One thing about depression/anxiety is that it causes you to fixate on things. My thing, in particular, involves what I feel to be the inevitable, worst-possible, most-out-of-control outcome on all of planet earth: having a panic attack, in a crowded public space, far from my home, while two unpredictable children are under my care.

That's about 78% of what I think about. The other 22% of the time, I think about how stupid that is and how it sucks to be me. And you, because you have me as a mother.

Oh what a self-fullfilling prophecy! And self-perpetuating too.

I've got an equation for how this feels (right now). It's very mathematical:

(anxiety = depression = more anxiety = more depression) x infinity = the rest of my life

If only we could fuel vehicles on the fear that drives me!? (Hold on a sec, I'm calling a venture capital company right now...)

(They didn't go for it.)

So, you can see why a lot of what I write here focuses on the negative, on the parts that need healing, on the worst of the worst.

It's not only that I'm being transparent and vulnerable, it's also that I'd be able to look back on what I've written here and think, "that was some serious shit and I lived to tell of it."

I'd like to be able to laugh, nay, to scoff at my fears. Not in a belittling way, but in an I-conquered-that way--I climbed that mountain or trudged through that valley and whatnot.

So, in full disclosure, I must also, for the record, attest that while I've probably experienced my emotionally worst day EVER in life so far, there have been many things that go right and that are in my control every single day.

Here's a non-exhaustive list:

- I built a sandbox!

- And have done work on the yard, got a patio set, so we can spend endless hours soaking up Vitamin D.

- I have no problem going to familiar places without Xanax, even with one or both of my Dearest Daughters (depending on the day, of course), i.e. the doctor's office, dropping and picking up your daddy from work, dropping you off with Auntie Jonelle or Auntie Dina, stopping at the pharmacy, getting ice cream at the McDonald's dive-thru, going to church (both of them, actually), going to Lola and Lolopop's house.

Our successful trip to CVS. That may or may not be a bag of M&Ms that Danjo is waving.

- I'm able to run errands by myself (sometimes assisted by Xanax, sometimes not).

- I went to see The Avengers.

- I've been shopping (in stores with walls and bright lights and choices) with Lola a couple of times.

- While driving, I sit calmly in line at stoplights (almost) everyday without wishing I had a monster truck to drive over all the waiting cars.

- I'm taking care of myself, asking for what I need (including asking my husband to stay home. BIG DEAL.), trying not to feel overwhelmed by options, pracitioners, insurance hurdles.

- I haven't lost all civility. But, maybe because I'm taking more intentional care of myself (or maybe it's the drugs), I've unabashedly stood-up for myself, said no, been forthwith, set limits on several recent occasions when I might have otherwise spent time being too polite or accomodating to my own detriment.

- My closet and shoes are organized. It might feel obsessive at times and it's TBD whether it's emotionally productive, but there are benefits to controlling the parts of my environment that I can: I can see our bedroom floor!

- On the other hand, I'm letting go of things that I used to feel compelled to control. For example, your daddy's been doing the grocery shopping and he basically gets some version of the right thing. And I deal with it. And it costs less overall anyway, because he's better at sticking to the list.

- I've completed many, many, many puzzles!

Here I am, trying to be gentle and kind and encouraging to myself. Whew, now that that's done, I'll head back to my corner. Feel free to join me, my always-and-forever-even-if-Mommy's-not-all-there, Dearest Daughters

Love,

P.S. And also, I wrote this just in case one of the People sees me in public and thinks: "Isn't she, like, supposed to be crazy and vomitting or something? Hurry! Run! Fast!" Yeah, you don't have to do that. And you can talk to me too, if you want. I'm not that kind of zombie.

Have I Told You Tuesday: Santa is Real. Believe it OR ELSE.

Dearest Daughters,

Every direction I turn, there seems to be someone who doesn't believe in Santa. And they're on all sides of the fence.

Some people feel that Santa is a lie and they don't feel comfortable lying to their children. Except for when they tell them there's no more candy or the television is broken or babies come from Mommy's "tummy" (it's called a uterus, people, grow one and tell your kids the truth.)

And still other people feel like Santa is a secular figure that has no place in the "true" meaning of Christmas. Or they feel that way, and wracked by guilt find ways to somehow justify Santa and Christmas lights and killing trees.

Here's what I believe:

1) As your Uncle Bruce says, embrace the grey.

2) Traditions are wonderful things. We have Christian traditions. And secular traditions. And religious traditions that have become secular. We have ethnic traditions. And co-opted Jewish traditions, because you go to a Jewish preschool and latkes are yummy. Don't get me wrong. I'm no pick-and-chooser, nor am I a fundamentalist. When it comes to beliefs, I have convictions, but I'll never shake a finger at a well-meaning tradition if it expands your experience of the world and makes lasting memories. (See No. 1 above)

3) You better believe it. Santa is real. And though he can be generous, he's also a hard ass. He's a lot like, oh, say, me?

4) Because if you don't believe in Santa, he won't come. If you don't believe in the magic, then the magic obviously wasn't meant for you. So, we'll just pass your magic on to other children and we'll spend our Christmas morning doing the most mundane, lackluster, magic-less and loathed of all tasks: folding laundry.

5) Folding laundry makes me, very specifically, filicidal. So, basically. You can chose to reject Santa. Or you can live.

Make good choices! Because though I really love you, I really hate folding laundry.

Love,

Tips for Baby Feeding Magic: Negligence

Thanks to Plum Organics for sponsoring my post about tips for baby feeding magic. What if you let baby choose what's for dinner? Check out their cute "Quest for Yum!" video and see what happens!

Dearest Daughters,

I've written before about the angst a parent like me (read: educated, wealthy American) can experience when it comes to the food we put in our babies' mouths.

In concept and theory, I worry. But, when it comes to the day-to-day, general care and maintenance of my brood, I'm a no fuss Mommy.

Recently, on Facebook, a friend expressed her concern about being oblivious to her daughter's erupting tooth. Oh, the negligence!

I responded: "Negligent parents are a good thing. They spend less time worrying and more time enjoying life."

This is my general philosophy towards parenting.

Here are a few more of my specific philosophies when it comes to feeding my children:

Lists keep me sane: earthquake edition

Dearest Daughters,

I want to talk to you about something very important: ice cream.

It's very good. And from the devil. And that is why it does not live in our freezer.

Now, I want to talk to you about something even more important: earthquakes.

We've had two this past week. And being under three years old and asleep during each of them, you weren't much fazed by them.

But, I read people's tweets and facebook updates of anxiety and of their frightened kids responses (most of whom had just coincidentally participated in "The Great California Shake Out"). The State of California and I both knew something was coming; that's why we were prepared.

I'm just kidding. That's the thing about earthquakes: they're not as predictable as we'd like them to be. Which is EXACTLY why being prepared is SO important.

Especially when you live on the fault voted "Most Likely in the Bay Area to Experience a 6.7 or Greater Magnitude Earthquake by 2036." Compared to other faults in the Bay Area, our probability (at 31%) is at least 10% higher than any other fault.

(See for yourself.)

But, am I terrified? Should you be terrified? Should we move? Should we spend the next twenty five years at the edge of our seat?

I'm Did Do It! Emergency Preparedness Edition.

Dearest Daughters,

Babybel, my human auto-correction device, a trait I just wrote about here, is very quick to defensively exclaim, "I'm DID do it!"

That's your response when I ask one of those accusatory questions, where I FULL WELL know the answer, such as, "You didn't go potty before you left, did you?" or "Did you paint at school today?" or "Why didn't you finish your milk?"

"I'm DID do it, Mommy! I'm DID!"

Or when I am actually mistaken or ignorant, but you take it as a personal attack, "Did you throw away the dirty diaper?" or "Did you finish that banana?"

"I'm DID, Mommy, I'm DID do it!"

Get this: I don't correct you.

Because 1) I think it's cute and 2) I like the conviction with which you deliver that sentence. Mixed tenses aside, you have so much conviction that you need not one, but THREE conjugated verbs to express your passion.

I am.

I did.

I do.

And isn't that what it all amounts to? Any of our lives, really. What it all boils down to?

I am. I did and I do.

I did and I do. And I am.

I do. And I did. So, I am.

We are what we do. And we do what we are.

Like. So. Totally. Profound.

Don't interrupt me, I'm having an epiphany.

For example, I'm not the most confident, go-get-em, conquer the world type. I'm a worrier. And a procrastinator. And an avoider. I am what I do. I do what I am. That's what I did.

Today, after having a lazy morning since we didn't need to bring Daddy to "Work at The BART Train" (as you say), we ran some errands, the most important of which was to get supplies for our emergency kits.

To Danjo on the Occasion of Being Twelve Months Old (Belated)

Dearest Danjo,

I'm sorry. I can't do it. I just CAN'T write this letter. Because I can't believe that you are a year old. I can't wrap my head around it.

First of all, you're not walking yet. Total slacker. So, I look at you and think: you're not a one year old, you're nothin' but a baby!

Second of all, this year passed too quickly. As everyone said it would. Not only because that's how time works when you have kids (the days are long, but the years are short), but also because you're a second child, born only twenty months after your sister. Having two children under two makes life a blur.

We're on the other end of a year, when both of you sleep through the night, when your sister speaks in complete sentences and dresses herself, when you can feed and entertain yourself. And from this side of it, I think to myself: HOW THE HELL DID WE PULL THAT OFF?

We did. Because, when you have to, you do. That'll make more sense one day.

But, what is gained in one's ability to function on little sleep while feeding and caring for two babies, is lost in one's memory of it all. Blame it on sleep deprivation or the haze of multitasking or a coping mechanism that ensured I kept my shit together through it all.

Having two small children, by choice, is not the WORST thing in the world. The WORST thing is waking up to a kitchen full of ants. Or getting pooped on. By birds. Or children. Those are the WORST things. Oh, and starvation, coupled with disease. THE WORST.

Not at all the worse, but having a baby and not remembering much of her first year does sort of kind of suck monkey poop. Particularly, because I LOVE me some babies. Luckily, you're the cuddly variety of baby. I made sure to request that on your order form. So, you don't mind being snuggled and cuddled and rocked like a baby. So, I can hold you close, close my eyes, sniff your head and all but breastfeed you; pretend you're that steaming bundle of spit up and liquid infant poop that I love so well.

And. Reminder! You STILL are a baby. You're not yet a toddler, thanks to your unwillingness to walk. I don't mean to age you in my bout of premature nostalgia. And you'll always always always be my baby. No matter how big you get or how old you are.

Yet another letter about me and parenting, with nothing of substance about you. Imagine that!? So, for the sake of your self-esteem and for posterity (since I'm not so great at the memory thing), some snippets about you at twelve months: