My darling baby girl, today you are exactly four weeks old. It is so cliche for a new parent to exclaim, “It’s going by too quickly!” and “I can’t believe they’re so big already!” but … it’s just all so true. It is, and you are.
Things are very busy around here, as you know by now. Your brother, D, is a 23-month-old tornado of activity and blabbering and kisses and sticky fingers. He loves you so much, and I am so grateful he has not been jealous of you like I had feared. Instead, he lavishes you with cuddles and kisses at every chance. He even learned to say “Baby” (Well, “Bee”) and sign it at the same time.
When you cry, he signs “Baby cry” and rushes over to murmur gibberish at you, and stroke your soft arms. He also tries to pick you up, but luckily we have always stopped him in time. He has also tried to feed you fake food from his kitchen, because he is so generous. He loves to feel important by adjusting the controls of your swing, as if he knows exactly what setting you prefer and makes it his personal responsibility to adjust it for you.
Things are also busy because Daddy works so much, which means I can’t always get to you immediately if I’m busy with your brother (and vice versa for him). It was wonderful to have Daddy around for those first almost-two weeks, though, wasn’t it? He is a wonderful, amazing Daddy who works so hard for our little family.
When I was pregnant with you, Daddy wondered what he would call you for a nickname (since he calls your brother “Bud”). He tried out a few different names in the hospital at my suggestion, but nothing felt right. I think it was on your second day that he thought of “Peach,” and it was perfect. It is true what everyone says about Daddies having a special connection with their daughters. You are Daddy’s little Peach, and I am overwhelmed when I think about how very much he loves you.
I have struggled in these last four weeks with trying to find a balance between recording and documenting your moments and really LIVING your moments. I take tons of photos of you, but often feel guilty about not blogging and recording the details. I don’t want to forget a moment of this, your babyness.
But there is just not enough time in the day, it seems, to sneak away to the computer to write down the soft curve of your cheek. Or the sweet way you smile in your sleep. Or the teeny tiny nose that you share with your brother and Daddy. Or the delicate shape of your fingers and nails — perfect carbon copies of mine. Or the fluffy tufts of golden brown hair that I fear are going to take on my, um,
wild less-than-smooth texture. Don’t worry — Auntie L has already promised to pay for hair-straightening when you’re a teenager if you want it.
Since things are so chaotic with your brother, the only chance I would get to blog about you is during his nap. But more often than not, I have chosen instead to whisk you upstairs into the big bed, and lie with you in the dark. It is during those quiet moments, when I’m nursing you, that I stroke your smooth cheeks and chubby arms and the softness of your hair. You are so warm and squishy, and In the first week that we were home from the hospital, I cried constantly while doing this. I still cry a lot of the days. But don’t worry, because they are happy tears. I just can’t fathom how I got so very lucky. You are so beautiful that it makes my throat hurt.
So please, C, I want you to understand that while you may not see as many blog posts about your newborn-ness as I wrote for D, it is not because I love you any less. I am just choosing to spend my (very limited) down-time drinking you in, and savouring every second, instead of trying to type it all down. This is just all going by way too quickly, and I don’t want to miss a minute.