dear bee // 17.

Dear Bee,

Oh my gracious you are terribly fun this week. Suddenly, it’s as if we rocked you to sleep as a three-month-old and you awoke as a crazy toddler hyped up on fun-sized candy bars. This morning, I tried to feed you a total of 14 times. 14! But you didn’t want to nurse; you wanted to giggle. And giggle and giggle and giggle. And I wanted to giggle with you, because your belly laugh is incredibly infectious and your nose scrunches up in the corners and OMG my ovaries are working overtime on a petition to make more of you. (Denied, ovaries.)

We are in a magical place, you and I. Our days are littered with exclamation points. Grown-ups often use this strange phrase when they talk about sweet things their kids do, Bee. They say, “My heart is going to just burst!”. And I always thought that was a silly saying, but yes dear. My heart is, indeed, going to burst. You are going to give me the first cute-induced coronary and we’re going to land the front page of the local paper as scientists scratch their head, trying to figure out just how a bald baby could have wreaked such havoc on a grown woman’s chest cavity.

And then you’ll look at me with your bright eyes and give me a wide, toothless smile and my heart will magically be one again. Because that’s what you do, Bee. You put things back where they belong.

Earlier this week, you were playing with your baby gym and I was answering emails and, without warning, the dogs started barking at a lawn mower across the street. And it jolted me so much that I instinctively started shouting for the dogs to be quiet (which is incredibly counterproductive, I realize). And your tiny lip curled under and your brow furrowed and you started to cry. Not at the dogs barking, but at my shouts. I had inadvertently scared you, and I had never felt so low in my life. And in that moment, you put things back where they belong. You’d forced me to rise above barking dogs and unanswered emails and focus on the bigger picture: you.

Perspective is a funny thing, Bee. Piles of clean, unfolded laundry isn’t a chore to you: it’s a warm bed for cuddles. Dirty dishes are musical instruments, dust bunnies are future plush toys. And you’re teaching me your ways. How to slow down, be mindful – and forget the rest.

Thanks for putting it all together for me, sweet one. Long live dust bunnies and belly laughs. Long live you.