Dear Rose,
I just got off the phone with your Mimi. She was trying to write a letter and your cousin Sammy was crying in the background. It seems that almost every time I call Mimi or your Aunt Jilly, Sam is making noise in the background. Babies, even sweet and adorable babies like Sammy, are a lot of work.
A few days ago, one of the families from the Yahoo group visited your orphanage and she got a picture of you. We know from your referral papers that you're "active" and "restless," so it shouldn't come as a surprise that in the pictures she snapped, you're crying, begging to be picked up. I know that I am going to have my hands full once you get here.
Over the next few months, there's nothing I can do to hurry along the process of getting there, of picking you up, of making sure that someone is always there to hold you when you cry or rock you to sleep, so instead of blathering on about it, I'm going to be pragmatic. Here are a whole list of things that I can do now that I won't be able to do once you get here:
1) Sleep in on Sunday mornings. Or any mornings. Maren wakes me up for her cereal and milk, but it's easy enough to do a quick pour and stagger back to bed. No warming bottles, no strapping in the highchair, no feeding bite by slow bite required.
2) Take a shower. I know how hard it is to get a shower at all those first few months, and since I'm not sure if you'll be more baby or more toddler, I don't know if you'll keep me so busy I won't be able to get near the shower, or if you'll just cry at the bathroom door like Isaac did when he was a baby. Either way, the long hot shower will be compromised.
3) Get in and out of the car quickly. As long as I hit the automatic doors on the van, everyone is at the stage where they can get in and buckle themselves (although Isaac did point to the door handle the other day and ask what it was used for). I figure you're at least three years from that point. In fact, when the car seat arrived, I checked it to make sure it was the right color, then dropped it back in the box and stuck it in the garage. Such is my revulsion for the car seat stage.
4) Go places without a stroller. Oh, I have a stroller. If I'd let her, I'm sure Maren would even sit in it. But we rarely go anywhere (including the zoo or other places with lots of walking) with a stroller. Of course, a stroller has its upsides (there's always a place to put your drink, for example) but we're focusing on the positive aspects of not having a baby here.
5) Eat a meal in a restaurant. From the time Bryce was three months until he was three, we were a takeout only kind of family. Enough said.
6) Go to the movies. When you take a toddler to the movies, the older kids sit and watch the movie, while you wait in the hall with the baby, worrying about the aforementioned older kids, chasing the baby, and willing time to move faster.
7) Run. I've run 11 marathons since Maren's first birthday. It's something I enjoy doing and get a lot of personal satisfaction from. And even though I've already signed up for a bunch of spring and summer races, I paid my entrance fees knowing that pulling out would always be an option.
8) Live in a house without diapers. We'll ignore the fact that your older brother and sister wear pull ups to bed. I haven't dealt with poop (other than my own) for at least a year. I like it that way.
9) Actually sit on the bench for an entire sacrament meeting. Oh, wait a sec, I actually appreciate the excuse a kid gives me to go talk in the hall.
10) Write a novel. It makes sense that I'm finishing my MFA, embarking on my dream to write novels, and adopting a baby at the same time. Because those are totally compatible desires, right?
I recognize that I'm giving up a lot of the freedoms I've gained back in the last few years. Of course, I'm writing this letter to you with your sister sitting on my lap, watching a movie on the iPad, so I guess freedom is relative. And I hope you know, Dear Rose, that chronicling this list doesn't mean that I want you any less or want you to come any slower (please, no!) but it just helps me remember that even though you're not here, some aspects of my life are easier now than they will be in a few months.
Love,
Mommy
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