Happy Birthday, Ella Beans!

Well, two days late anyway.

You were sick on your 1st birthday, little one, and you spent 2 hours of it sitting at the doctors' office with fever and diarrhea. You didn't even get to eat cake on your birthday. But thanks to the pre-party we had a couple of weeks ago, we at least know you don't like cake...or ice cream.

Daddy wants a DNA test because he says you can't be mine, but I saw the way you lit up when I fed you a chocolate chip.

I've heard it said that nicknames are a sign of being loved. If that is true, you can consider yourself one of the most loved children in the world. Mommy loves you, Ella Beans, Ella Bella, Ella Bo Bella, Pookie Shama-tookie, Shamookie, Shamooka, Pookin-tot, Poquito Mosquito, Lovey, Love Bug, Itsy Bits, Chubsy Wubsie (who was a bear and had no hair), Monsterina Ballerina, Crankopolis. And Daddy loves you, Mrs 2 Teeths (now Mrs 4 teeths), Punkin Beans. And Sayde loves you, Ellie, Sonia. And Connor loves you, Nu Nu, Eensy Meensie.

I could say something here about all the changes that have taken place in our lives over the past year, but they all pale in comparison to you. Who knew someone so small could make a family feel so complete. And, while you may be short on crawling and walking skills, you are definitely not short on love and attention. Especially attention. More specifically, older sister and brotherly attention. In fact, you put up with quite a lot. Thanks for being such a good sport, Eensy Meensie.

Happy 1st Birthday, baby girl. Mommy loves you more than you can ever know.

You're not Zero Anymore

Dear Ella,
My little punkin beans, happy 6 month birthday. You are now officially 1/2 years old. Well technically, your 6 month birthday was two days ago, but you didn't seem to notice. Right now, my love, you are asleep in your crib upstairs with a sock on your right hand. When you learned how to suck your thumb a few weeks ago, I thought it was a blessing because finally you had a way to calm yourself down. Don't get me wrong, sweet pea, I appreciate how strong you've made my legs by insisting on being bounced 14 hours a day, but I'm glad you've found your thumb to be infinitely more satisfying. Unfortunately, you've found your thumb to be so comforting, that you've sucked the skin right off it . Your little thumb is all cracked open and raw, and you spent the entire last night screaming because you wanted to suck your thumb, but it had no skin. So, for the good of our entire family, we socked you.

But to our great surprise, you have demonstrated yourself to be a peacemaker. This morning, for the first time ever, you decided that a pacifier was acceptable. In fact, it seemed not only acceptable, but pretty damn awesome; when judging by the snapping turtle impersonation you did when I held that binky in front of your face. It was very mature of you to compromise and I'm so proud of you. 1/2 years old and you are so reasonable.

This easy-going side of you comes as such a surprise mostly because of the circumstances of your birth. After my C-section with Connor, I was convinced that I had brought the need for surgery upon myself by agreeing to be induced because the Redskins had an away game. Yes, you read that right, baby girl, but we wanted Daddy to be there, so induce I did. But, Baby-Connor didn't know which way was South, and so the doctor had to go get him. However, after I saw Baby-Connor, the largest baby in the nursery, I decided that maybe I really shouldn't try and force a Christmas ham through a toilet paper roll - for the good of the toilet paper roll.

However, with you being a girl, I really thought you'd be able to find your way, and plus I'm stubborn as hell and really didn't want another C-Section. But inevitably, after spending 21 hours trying to find the exact right position to ease a Christmas ham through a toilet paper roll,

I gave up and let the doctor take you. It was worth it.

I've kissed you every day since that day. And though things don't always go the way we plan them, as long as I can kiss your chubby cheeks, we'll be just fine. I love you more than you'll ever know.

Now, forget "da da da da". Let's work on "ma ma ma ma", and when all else fails, squeak.

Love,

Mommy

Dear Ella

Oh Ella,
Even though I cooked a beautiful dinner of grilled chicken with mango chutney, a vegetable medley of grilled asparagus, portabello mushrooms, and red bell pepper, and sweet potato baked french fries to be eaten in the lovely 70 degree fall weather on our back porch, for some reason, you had a bug up your ass and screamed for two hours straight. This led me to drink 3 glasses of wine and find it very difficult to restrain myself from shot-putting you off the deck.



Usually, you are a pretty happy baby. You are typically content to bounce face down across my knees while we eat dinner or to sit in your bouncy seat and admire the way we chew our food with actual teeth. Don't be too envious, teeth are overrated. All the flossing and whitening is very time consuming. You don't need teeth to eat ice cream. Plus, you bite pretty damn hard with only gums.


Please be more considerate in the future. After all, you are 3 1/2 months old now. And now that I think about it, what the heck are you so pissy about anyway? Someday, when I am old and decrepit, I will poop in diapers, subsist on a liquid diet, be wheeled around, and I fully expect it to be awesome. So please, enjoy the ride while it lasts and let us eat our dinners in peace. You won't see diapers and strollers again for another 80 or so years.

Love,
Mommy

PS. I wrote this last night and didn't post it because I wasn't sure exactly how those 3 glasses of wine affected my writing. Now that I reread it, I feel kinda bad about wanting to shot-put you off the deck, especially since you are particularly smiley this morning. So, to make up for it, here is some video of you being all cute.

After watching this video, you may mistakenly conclude that I have a lung disorder which causes me to audibly inhale deeply after finishing a sentence. Uhh, yeah, that's it. I have a lung disorder.