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
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| I sleep a lot. |
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