Second

Dear Adeline,

Given your position in the family, it was inevitable that sooner or later you'd be compared to your brother. I just didn't realize how soon. I suppose it actually started when I was still pregnant. When he was a wee bean, Bryson made me queasy throughout the day. You, on the other hand, made me throw up more evenings than not for several months. Everyone told me that was a sure sign you were a girl.

So far you've been a pretty sleepy kid, content to nurse, doze, and repeat. You let me put you down when you nod off, whereas your brother wanted to be held 24/7. Your dad and I have our fingers crossed that you will remain a "good sleeper." Bry, well, let's just say it took him awhile to figure out the whole sleeping through the night thing.

But here's the thing: you are obviously going to be your own person, no matter how you compare with your brother. He's been our only reference point for what it means to be parents. Being second means that you might end up with the short end of the stick at times as your dad and I work to learn about who you are in your own context. Making the comparisons is reflexive; looking past them will be our ongoing challenge.

We promise to do our best.

Love,

Mama

You make Bry look like a giant.

First

Dear Adeline,

Today I gave you your first bath. And thus began the series of firsts that you will experience over your lifetime. First steps, first day of school, first kiss, first heartbreak. If your first bath is any indicator of how future firsts will go, there will be uncertainty, confusion, acclimation, quiet enjoyment, then lots of noise, a nap following, and someone there to guide you through all of it. Your father, brother, and I are lucky to be your guides for these first firsts. We'll be here for the later ones if you need us too.

Love,

Mama

This is the life.

Welcome Adeline!

Dear Adeline,

Your father has been very concerned about equity, and wanted to make sure that I chronicled your first year or so in the same way I did for your brother. So here it is, your very own blog. Some day, say about 13 years from now, you will probably be appalled that I documented things like the way you flail your limbs as if you're attempting to swim on land and your propensity for pooping as soon as your diaper is removed. Or maybe you'll be delighted. Probably appalled, though.

At any rate, I know that I don't want to forget the way you purse your lips and furrow your brow in a quizzical pout. Or your quiet, wide-eyed gaze, which is often directed toward my face. And also the wall.

Your daddy will want to remember the way you bust out of every swaddle he tries to put you in. And Bryson will be reminded that he wanted to name you Lucy. Now that you've arrived, he calls you dime, because you're so little.

You're not yet two weeks old, and though you sleep approximately 22 hours a day, there's already so much to keep track of. I'm sure that all of it will be fodder to be shared with future crushes, and will elicit your clenched-teeth protests to stop embarrassing you. I can't wait!

Love,

Mama

I sleep a lot.