Bad Day

Dear David,


It's been something of a bad day all around. I don't know if you have gas or hiccups or if you're sleepy or bored, but you have been one serious pain in my butt today!
Right now, though, we're in our room, at something of a stalemate. You're laying next to me on my bed, nice and warm under a receiving blanket and wearing that striped robot onesie I love on you so much, and just...
Staring at me. Smiling at me. Cooing and talking at me.
You seem to be enjoying looking around right now. Which is good, because at least it means you're happy and not screaming at me. I've wanted to cry a couple times this afternoon because you seemed to be so unhappy, and I'm so bad at deciphering your cries. For me, it's just impossible. I can tell the difference between a cry because you need something and a cry because you're in pain, but that's about it. If there was a Baby Cries 101, I'd be failing miserably.
In two days, you'll be two months old. Your eyes are still blue. You've gained so much weight and bulk to your body... It astounds me every single day that you're the same teeny thing I delivered that night.
It's the Teen Mom finale tonight. We're watching it right now. Or rather, I'm watching it. You're watching me. And all I can sit here and think is that Farrah's insane if she can leave her daughter behind and move to Florida to relive her teen years. Someone would have to pry you from my cold, dead fingers. LOL
It's weird, being your mother. Sometimes I look at you and I feel so overwhelmed. Sometimes I feel frustrated. Sometimes I start to cry just by looking at the creases on your wrist, or your nose that's just like mine. It's like we're the same person still; my mood now plays off your mood. When you're mad, I'm mad. When you're upset, I'm upset. When you smile, I smile. Books and doctors will say that babies smile to mimic their mothers. I disagree. It's as though you always smiled to make me smile.
And I love you for it.
Here's to hoping tomorrow's a better day.


Love, Mommy.