Dear Jude. Teething. At 3 months. Really? Must you ravage my heart thus? Soon my gummy grins will have a single pearly proof point that my baby is surely growing. So not ready for this ♥
Dear Jude, in just a few hours you’ll officially be 3 months old. I must try to remember that this is to be celebrated, despite the fact that i already feel curiously nostalgic about the weeks that have stretched between now and your birth. WHY ARE YOU GROWING UP SO FAST??? ♥
Now I don’t want you to see this word and dismiss it as some namby-pamby little trifle, unworthy of the phrase ‘crisis’ or ‘affliction’, because you’ve never had it as bad as this: CRAVINGS. Now listen, focus: remember that time in kindergarten where ALLL you ever wanted was the Lickety Split My Little Pony to complete your hopes and dreams? How about that time in high school where you KNEW if you didn’t get THAT dress for the ball, you would absolutely burst into flames of fail? Howsabout those nights where you mused to yourself how much more AWESOME the night would get with some ice cream/pepper shrimp/pizza? Yeah, if you take all of those, mix them into a giant ball and set them on the fires of desperate urgency and need, then we might be getting close to what a pregnancy-induced craving feels like. I mean I honestly used to chuckle when I heard older Jamaican sayings like “if you don’t get what you’re craving for you’ll ‘mark’ the baby” (ie give birth to a baby with a birthmark in the shape of your denied craving. KFC logo birthmark anyone?) But I got pregnant and like so many other symptoms: I got it. My morning-noon-and-night sickness coupled with my bionic nose meant everything pissed me off and nothing could be eaten. BUT when I did decide to eat, all I needed in this world was some KFC hot-wings paired with a crisp, cool bottle of Lime concentrate. Yeah, the one with 2 tsp=1 jugfull? Yeah. I drank it right out the bottle with a straw. And should my husband DARE return home without my bottle of Lime juice, I could be temporarily sated with some salt, but he had about 3.75 minutes to rectify the situation or I was going to EXPLODE into hormone laden, recrimination-filled, teary, furious, horrifying shrapnel. And think of how hard that mess would have been to explain, huh?
Dear Jude, I believe I’ve wanted you my whole life. I was made to be your mom. And though some were hard to endure, every thing I’ve been through in my life has prepared me to be the person God could choose to be your mother. So I embrace them all in retrospect. I live for your little face ♥
Dear Jude, you have redefined every word I’ve ever known. Eg: “Morning” is now whenever you say it is, entirely unrelated to clocks or the sun. “Breakfast” is now more about speed, and occurs whenever u let it, “love”… is this gut wrenching, soul warming, cheek splitting, heart-soaking state I inhabit and “good bye” has officially been erased ♥
Dear Jude, it’s past midnight and since I’m not supposed to smile up with you in order to help teach you that night time is for sleeping, could you please turn off the cuteness when I turn off the lights? Also, those toothless grins and giggles whenever we do happen to make eye contact? Not helping ♥
Dear Jude, of all the things you will encounter to absorb or disregard on your journey to Becoming A Man, I pray you embrace these: learn the lessons, listen to your mother, watch your father and follow God ♥
Bionic Nose: Is someone eating pizza? Yes…about 2 streets over. And last Tuesday. But lucky, lucky you- You can STILL smell the stuff, and you know what? You’ll still be smelling it 3 weeks from Friday. Because now your nose has gone bionic. You can literally smell the lies a 5th grader is telling her English teacher in a school halfway across the country. You can smell the car that just screeched to a stop at the top of your road. You can smell everyone’s toothpaste, deodorant and soap and let’s not EVEN talk about the smell of the LACK of those things. You can now even smell things like hope, and desperation and when every single smell on the planet makes you violently ill, it’s of course the perfect time to turn those smells up by a factor of about 5000. So yes, please little Malaysian grandma across the globe, PLEASE go on ahead and add that extra pepper, and whatever that ingredient wiggling on your chopstick is. PLEASE go ahead and add it. What does it matter that I’ll be smelling it every day for the rest of my first trimester! You too Mr Indian man outside the Taj Mahal, thanks for that extra curry. My nostrils and I thank you.
Dear Jude, if I wrote you a thousand letters, would you know that all I’ve ever really wanted to say is how much I love you? I now know my whole life has been a journey to this place: being your mother ♥