To my son

Dear Elijah,

You were born 9 days ago, one of the happiest (and most painful) days of my life. You were a hard pregnancy, and an almost harder labor-- two weeks of early labor, and twenty-two hours of the real thing until I got to hold you, wet and sticky and reeking of something new, on my chest. I would do it all again in a heartbeat, knowing that in the end I get you.

You're sitting in your swing that Nana got you right now, making tiny baby noises while having your (possibly very big) baby dreams. I'm not sure what you're dreaming about- maybe The Boobs? Maybe it's about Mommy and Daddy. I'm sure that we're more than just shapeless pink blobs now that you're starting to open your eyes. And your eyes are marvelous, my boy. Everyone keeps telling me that they're going to change, but I think that they're going to stay the gorgeous slate-grey that they are. I'm not sure where you got that grey from, since Daddy and I both have blue eyes, but it suits you. It goes very well with your full head of blond hair.

I know it annoys you when you're trying to sleep and I keep petting your cheek or fussing with your hair or marveling over how tiny your toes are. But as new as you are to the rest of the world, I've been getting to know you for the last nine months; finally getting to see the little fingers that were poking me or the feet that dislocated my rib? It's amazing. I can't get enough of looking at you, playing with you and holding you. Which is perfectly fine with you-- you seem to prefer being held over anything else. The bassinet is acceptable when you're very, very tired. The swing is okay, most of the time. But being held by Mommy or Daddy? That's the absolute best thing in the world to you, my little Treefrog.

You're wondering, "Why does Mommy call me Treefrog?". When you're curled up against my chest, with your little head tucked under my chin, and your tiny butt planted in my hand, and your feet/legs curled up under you? You look like a treefrog. One of the pretty, sweet green and white ones that I used to have when I was little. We also call you Troll and Monsterman. It makes me happy that you're going to grow up in a house where we have strange endearments like that. I promise to try not to call you these things in front of your friends when you're older, but... I'm not making a guarantee. I might slip up and call you my Monster in front of that cute girl. Or Treefrog in front of the guys. I'm sure I won't be forgiven when I do that... so I'll just abuse the privilege now.

You do such amazing things, Eli. You're advanced in what you've figured out how to do so far. Really advanced. You lift up your head when you're on my chest and look around. You know how to grab your bink and hold it in your mouth. You try to launch yourself sideways to get to The Boobs, which apparently, you're supposed to hold off on doing for another week or so. You're my surprising little boy, and every day is bringing something new and amazing.

And so that I don't forget-- when I went into early labor, there were two earthquakes. Almost 24 hours, exactly, after you were born the earthquake storm started. August is also the month of the Blue Moon. You're full of omens, little boy. I'm hoping they're all good ones.

But to wrap this up (because you're starting to fuss like you need a diaper change), I love you. Your Daddy loves you. The emotion that I have for you is new and deep and terrifying and wonderful. I want to do everything in my power to give you the stars and make your life beautiful. I love you, I love you, I love you. Forever.

- Mommy