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aah, the simple life. almost.

Tuesday, July 24, 2007

Letters to Liam - Months 5 + 6

Dear Beany-Weenie,



It's taken a long time to put this letter to you together. So much time, in fact, that I completely missed the target for your fifth month letter. And if I don't get this posted, you'll soon see your seventh month. I feel really bad about missing a month in these letters, but I'm still going to plead that we are so busy living life with you that there's small time left to write about it. And in two months, you have changed so much. Where to begin?



Well, let's get the big stuff over with first. On June 27th, you underwent another surgery to correct the saggital synostosis. Dr. Durham, the neurosurgeon warned us that this surgery would make the other one look like warm-up practice. And she was right. Although the surgery was a success, your recovery was hands down the worst time of my life. Daddy and I sat by your side and just prayed that you'd feel better soon. Your poor little noggin swelled up, and you couldn't see for three days, and you were hurting.





It made my heart hurt to see you in so much pain. The nurses left me get rid of your crib again and we put you in a hospital bed that I could get into too, and that's where I spent the next four days. You seemed to be calmer when you were held, and because the IVs were in your feet, you at least had the use of your hands this time. You spent a lot of time patting my face. I read to you a lot, and we rocked and rocked and rocked and rocked.



On Saturday, right around dawn, you pried one little eye open from sheer force of will, and then things really began to pick up speed. The minute you could see again, even just a little, you became much more like your old self. And by lunchtime, I got a smile out of you.



Babies bounce back with the most amazing speed. Friday night saw the height of your swelling, with your poor little eyelids all tight and shiny, and by dinnertime Saturday, I was packing you into the car to take you home. Remarkable. You were ecstatic to see again, and you were the happiest child to ever come out of major surgery a few days before. That in itself made your Daddy and I feel like we had come through everything all right.



So now you're a normal, healthy baby whose been making up for lost time. And you have the most spectacular scar--it looks exactly like the stripe on Charlie Brown's tee shirt.



Of course, you've already got a lot more hair than in this picture, and just like they promised, once it grows in, I don't think anyone will know about that scar unless you tell them.

You know what else you've got? Teeth! Two of them. You worked hard for that first tooth, and you made sure we all knew it. You chewed on everything. And you whinged. A lot. But then one weekend in August I took you to Boston to Aunt Lulu's house, and we met Mama's old friend Megan and her two boys in her beautiful beach town. We went to lunch, and then you went to the beach for the first time.



When we got home, you had another tooth! And you had been so busy, you didn't even notice! That's my guy!

You have a new way of soothing yourself:



And you needed a lot of soothing after your traumatic first foray into the world of fruits and vegetables. BANANAS!



That expression was short-lived. Like the rest of your family, you're a good eater. So far, you're eating sweet potatoes, peas, carrots, avocados, pears and yes, even bananas.

Lulu is teaching you the art of taking avant-garde photos:



I think she loves you. But she CAN'T have you!



You are a-movin'. You're all over the place on your belly and rolling back and forth. You're up on all fours, bouncing back and forth, getting ready to crawl. I love how happy this makes you, though I don't think my life will ever be the same after you get moving. I can't keep you still on the changing table...you're like a bendy straw. And when you bounce on all fours, you remind me of a toy car that you roll backwards, then let go to watch it shoot forward across the floor.



I'm pretty sure that my time as your favorite person is numbered. I think you might like that man in your life.





This month, we found out that your Grandpa is sick with cancer. He's got to have treatment, and it's making him pretty sick. But YOU are the best medicine for him, and it really cheers him up to see you. It cheers us all up, really. He's going to get better, and he'll be done with his medicine right around your first birthday. We'll have a big party. We just want him to get better real fast, so he can take you to your first Yankees game real soon.



So that's what's going on with you. I'm sure I've forgotten a bunch. Tomorrow, we leave on an airplane for North Carolina! Yay. At least, I hope yay. You're a pretty chill little guy. That whole thing about crying on airplanes, that's not a requirement.

You've got floaty toys and bathing suits, sunglasses, a ridiculously expensive pack and play that
comes to the beach. You are SET. I can't wait to watch you be the beach baby you know you are.



Fall is almost here. Keep blowing those raspberries. We're loving you, as always.

Love,

Mama

1 Comments:

At 12:46 PM, Blogger Melissa said...

I am so sorry to hear about your dad. He will be in my prayers. On the flip side of life, I am glad that Liam had made through his last surgery with flying stars. I can only imagine how much the two of you probably aged that week. Enjoy NC - you guys deserve the break!!!

Melissa

 

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