cirque du bebe

Caramama routinely writes posts to her daughter and sometimes quips responses from her daughter. I read about something similar in one of Real Simple’s special Family issues. They had a bunch of letters that parents had written to their children to be read at certain times of their life. I thought this was a great idea and had written my own when he was only 12 weeks old. Tonight, as I was going through the My Documents folder on my PC, I found it. Below is the letter I wrote, intending to give it to him in an envelope when he finally went off to college or decided to find a job in another state, or whatever it is that requires him to finally leave our nest.

I think I may continue to write these periodically when I think of advice or sentimental things I hope for him to understand at a certain phase or moment in his life. Depending on the level of personal expression, I may post them here occasionally.

To my dear little boy

Age 12 weeks
To be read when you are ready to leave the “nest”

I’ve just fed you and tucked you in for the night and for two nights in a row; you’ve gone to bed pretty peacefully. As you’ll probably know by now, your mother has a paranoid side to her (thanks to your maternal grandmother who is much more cautious than even I am). And right now, I’m wondering if you’re “going down” too peacefully and if I should be checking for signs of some illness.

Early tomorrow morning, hopefully around 4:00 a.m. (this means you’ve let me “sleep in”), you’ll wake up fussy or even crying – ready to eat again. I’ll feed you and gently place you back in your crib. Then I’ll go back to bed, exhausted, longing for that precious new-parent commodity, SLEEP. However, once I go to bed, I won’t be able to sleep. I’ll find myself listening intently to the monitor for any signs of distress. Unfortunately, you have Gastroesophageal Reflux Disease and this causes you great discomfort after feeding and occasionally, you’ll spit up or make choking noises. You’ll grunt and then there will be silence. I’ll start to fall asleep and you’ll grunt some more. Instantly, I’ll awaken. If the grunting turns into more throaty sounds, I’ll be quietly, but quickly walking down the hallway to check on you. I’ll creep up to your crib and look for your belly to rise and fall with each breath. Examine your face and sleeping posture. Then once satisfied that no action is needed (and the most that’s ever needed is a quick wipe with the burp cloth), I’ll saunter back down the hallway and once more climb into bed.

My point in telling you this is to let you know that as much as I want you to grow up to be a smart, funny, responsible young man, I’ll wish I could have a monitor while you’re away at college or whatever venture is next for you. I know that in order for you to become your own person, you’ll need to leave our nest. I know I’ll need to let you go. I’ll miss you and will always welcome my little bird back to the nest.

P.S. A call every once in a while wouldn’t hurt.