It hardly seems possible that you're already four weeks old. You're growing so fast that sometimes I worry if I close my eyes for just a moment too long, I'll miss something spectacular.
This month has been one of so many firsts -- your first bath, your first doctor appointment, your first Steelers game and trip to the mall. Even if things don't go exactly as your father and I had envisioned, no one could ever say life with you is dull.
Granted, we're enamored when you fill up a diaper, but who's counting?
One of the most exhilarating things about welcoming you into our lives is trying to figure you out. You're not shy about letting us know your likes and dislikes. In fact, it's quite obvious that you're not a fan of me sniffling my nose. A full-blown sneeze is fine, but if I dare sniffle while you're resting in my arms, you stir and fuss and shoot me a look that could melt titanium.
I'm more than willing to accommodate your needs, but that's one you're going to have to get over. It's called chronic allergies. And every time you shoot me that melty titanium look, I laugh and pray that gene skipped you.
On the other hand, you love having lotion rubbed on your feet, legs and arms. If you could pick one activity to fill the few hours you're awake every day, I'm pretty sure that would be it. Your whole body relaxes and your eyes sort of glaze over in utter contentment.
I'm seriously ready to book our first mother-daughter day spa trip.
I've also taken immense pleasure in your mini milestones. The day we brought you home from the hospital, I watched as your eyes followed your father while he was walking around the room. I immediately exclaimed that we had created a genius baby. A GENIUS BABY!
My opinion only solidified when I was showing you your great-great-grandmother's rattle this week and you reached out and grasped it. I don't care if it was a fluke, you took that thing out of my hand with such fervor that it's almost impossible to say it was chance.
So a few years from now when you come home with a certificate of completion for some elementary school science fair, you'll understand why I frame it and mount it on the living room wall above your dad's and my wedding photo.
I'm already just so proud.
Everyone told me that I would love you beyond measure, but I can measure EXACTLY how much I love you: a cow's worth.
When you started spitting up profusely and your doctor wanted to put you on medicine, I spoke to my lactation consultant and asked for advice. She recommended that I give up dairy because it's very hard for babies to digest.
I know, it doesn't make any sense. I mean, you're drinking my milk, so why would it matter if I had a little milk on my favorite food group -- cereal?
But I figured it was worth a try if it would save me from having to give you three doses a day of this horrible smelling liquid pepperminty stuff. And wouldn't you know it worked. I have now gone four days without any dairy, and even though I stare at your father lustily when he ingests a bowl of Cheerios before he leaves for work every morning, I know my sacrifice will be worth it in the long run when your digestive tract thrives.
I wouldn't give up cereal and ice cream for just anybody, lady.
You can pay me back by preferring vanilla cake for your birthday parties. I don't want to have to suffer through one more chocolate cake-loving freak in this family.
Life with you so far has been one wild ride. I don't know what day it is or sometimes even what hour it is, but I do know that time sort of stands still when you're snuggled in my arms and you're looking into my eyes.
I can't wait for what comes next.