dear bee // 31.

Dear Bee,

Your will has entered our lives and your will hath fury. Just this morning you snuck your hand into my shirt to swipe a nursing pad from its whereabouts, and when I interfered with the attempt, your entire face ripped off and a screaming goat appeared behind your baby-like flesh. The wail was so intensely horrifying that it scared even you – the original singer/songwriter of Paranormal Farm Animals The Soundtrack – and tears welled up to wash off the goat parts and then you were a baby again. It was a close call. I’m buttoning my shirt higher to keep the nursing pads out of radar should the goat return.

Yesterday I was getting ready for a meeting and it occurred to me, I look like a mom. My belly is soft and jiggly and flat-ish, like the hot water bottle we have in our guest bathroom but never use because heating pads exist and why do they even make hot water bottles any more? My silhouette is mom-like, too, with each hip protruding slightly forward and out, architectural evidence of the old room you stayed in before you came to live with us.

And we both know what lies beneath the nursing pads, Bee. It’s all very unfamiliar to me – this new body – but at the same time, it makes such sense. My hips have widened to the perfect degree so that you can wrap your legs around my waist and perch atop my left hip bone. It’s kind of chivalrous, really, how a mother’s body adapts for birth but then sort of stays that way for a bit, like when a gentleman drops you off in the driveway and lingers to make sure you get into your house safely.

Bee. The thing about you is that you positively, absolutely do not sit still under any circumstances – never, no thank you, not ever. When I try to nurse you, you start humming and singing and then you get frustrated because you can’t entertain yourself and eat at the same time, so entertainment wins and you surrender to the hum, like you’re at a drive-in and there’s a really great scene and your hand pauses in the air – mid-popcorn-delivery – so you can take it all in. Even as you slumber, you do so with such vigor – kicking the crib rails quietly in your sleep, likely dreaming of black belts and elbow strikes.

Speaking of sleep, you still don’t do it often, so instead, your father and I just stay up late and teach you party tricks. You can now smooch, stick out your tongue, blink, clap, wave, shake your head “No” and roar like a lion – all on command. Our favorite is the roaring, because it just has so much staying power, like when The Tokens song came on today and you roared every time they sang “The Lion Sleeps Tonight.” It’s a great trick, Bee.

We’ve had a slight snafu in the vocabulary department and we think your first word might have been “Roomba.” It’s your father’s fault really, because he never should have asked you to repeat it so many times, because now you do and the sentimental part of me thinks that Roomba is a terrible, horrible first word. It’s like your first food was a Twinkie, all American manufactured and fluff. Still, you say “Oomba” when you see it on its charger, and a bit of my insides wilt when I hear it.

But here’s the deal, Bee. I’m going to pretend like it doesn’t count, kind of like how proper nouns aren’t allowed in Scrabble. So if you ask me in fifteen years what your first word was, I’m going to lie and say it was something classy, like Henry the IV. Or quiche.

XO,
Mama

  • Your writing is beautiful. So deep and powerful. Each post or letter feels like a gift as they always make me pause, think and reflect. Thank you for sharing.

  • This is the sweetest and loveliest lette, and made me laugh so hard. I’m familiar with that goat face and mushy belly, and don’t feel bad, my daughter’s first word was dirt. Even at a year old, she seemed well aware of how unkempt out big city backyard is/was. Dirt. Everywhere. that’s it.

    • HA! I love that so much! Bee makes pig noises when we say “dirty.” I don’t know where they get this stuff!

  • Erin, the beauty in this makes me cry a little. It is so darn amazing – and hard all at the same time. I hope that I can capture my experience as beautifully as you do when I have a little one of my own! (And thank you for sharing with the world. Thank you.)

    • Ah, I can’t wait for you to have a little one, Tiffany – what an amazing child that will be. And thank you so much for your encouragement always! You’re such a gem!

  • Are you kidding me?? Favorite letter to Bee yet. You are truly winning at the game of parenting Erin. Don’t worry about a thing. You’ve got this.
    XO!

  • Forrest had his first trip on a swing this weekend, he loved it! He hasn’t gone goat on me but he has started intentionally seeking our attention by staring into our faces and yelling Baaaah! And he talks to his books when he’s flipping through them, Baahbababaaah. So far I’m counting his first word as Hii, but that may change if he comes up with something else (I love oomba, so cute!). If you’re even in Newberg, OR, let me know, I think Bee and Forrest would have great fun together.

    • OMG i love that so very much!!! He is just darling. And let me know if you’re in the midwest, as well! We can get these sweet little farm animals together for a playdate. :)

  • oh erin. i am not a mother yet (i mean it really is light years away), but i keep coming back to these posts. every paragraph gets better. the goat??? i just started crying i was laughing so hard. thanks for giving all of us future parents something to look forward to… plus bee is going to just die of laughter (and/or tears) when she reads these later. so sweet.

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