Dear Critter

Dear Critter,
As I'm both exhausted, because you won't sleep, and sad, because I'm at work instead of at home with you and your dad and sister, I'm just going to start this entry with some memories from your first 6 weeks of breathing air instead of sucking amniotic fluid.

• Soy formula is evil, but at least you're off it now. As mentioned in previous posts, you tested positive for a rare genetic disorder called galactosemia. It sounds fake, doesn't it? When I heard it over the phone I wanted to yell PRANK CALL PRANK CALL and hang up.... but it was real. Three and a half weeks later we got the good news that you are just a carrier and that you do not have a symptomatic strain of it. You get back on the boob! That said, someday, if you are planning to have your own biological children with someone, you might want to have them tested for it, just to know what you might be up against.
• Pumping sucks, but it's worth it to make sure you get at least mostly good stuff.
• Your dad almost left you thumbless (look closely at your left one) when I was too scared to trim your fingernails. It's ok. It grew back. Besides, how many thumbs would you REALLY have needed anyway? Neither one of us has attempted to trim them again since. You get mittens instead. It's a good look, kid. 
• One morning, after you slept on the couch with your dad, you smelled like an armpit. Your dad's armpit, to be clear. He'd been working out and it took 2 baths to get that smell off of your head.
• You LOVE snuggling with your dad. He plays with you and soothes you in ways that I can't, and it's adorable, melting my heart every time I see it. I guess you're not holding any grudges over the thumb thing.
• Sleep is rough. You seem to do best in the mornings, but nights are a different story. First (besides the simple fact that you're a newborn) was the soy and not being able to poop which kept you awake and screaming. Then came the gas, which we discovered was also HUNGER pain because the boob diner wasn't producing enough milk. We've fixed the hungry tummy thing, but you fart like a grown man after downing a 6 pack, and the grumble guts you get while working up to said flatulence is apparently pretty damn uncomfortable. We're hoping you'll feel better if I give up certain kinds of food like gluten and dairy.
• Have I mentioned that you sound, we can only imagine, like a pterodactyl when you're upset? You have the most blood curdling, eardrum shattering, heart breaking scream I've ever heard. And, unless you're fully in a food coma or asleep, you employ said scream with each diaper change. It seems, my little love, that you would much prefer stewing in your messed britches.
• You've pooped in my hand. You've projectile pooped on the changing table. You've pooped all over yourself and on me in public. You've pooped explosively. You've pooped pellets. You've pooped skid marks. You've pooped calking. You've pooped paste. You've pooped soup. Poop has been the most prevalent theme in your life so far. Poop and gas. And I'll admit, even having grown up with your grandmother's strict anti-bathroom-humor perspective, I maintain that your gas is HILARIOUS.... when you're not crying, that is. This will no doubt change as you get older and know better. Please don't be "that guy."
• I've had breakdowns, wishing I could do more to soothe you. I've cried with you when neither of us could sleep. Well, in all fairness, I could have slept if you'd have let me! But I hope you always know, my little love, that I will always be here to hold you through your pain. Even after I die, I hope memories will help lighten your load and ease your suffering.
• Your smiles and laughter are the most beautiful things I've ever seen and heard. You melt my heart into a messy little puddle.
• I hate leaving you to come to work. I love my job. I just hate leaving you, especially with someone other than family. No offense to Grandma Linda's Daycare. I think maybe, probably, it will never feel like there's enough time. You are my world. I wonder if I could just bring you to work with me... you could hang out in the office, getting snuggled by everyone in turn. Four days into being back at work, and I miss the hell out of you, Critter. At least someday I'll get off this night schedule and I'll be home with you and everyone in the evenings again.

I guess that's it for now. I'm so tired my eyeballs feel like they're falling out of my head, and coffee has taken on an entirely renewed appeal; but you're already getting too big too fast. I didn't give you life, little love. We've given each other life. I love passing go with you.

Love,
Mama