Letters to Colin: Letter One

*the following will be a series in this blog in which I write letters to my son, Colin*

Dear Colin,

Five days from now, I will no longer be able to measure your age in months in single digits. Just so you know, kid, after you're a year old, I will no longer measure your age in months. I'm just sayin'. Math is a rather complicated subject for your mother.

I can hardly believe you're this old already. Last year at this time, I was wondering if my stomach would stretch any further (it did), and my feet were beginning to resemble the misshapen feet of a Cabbage Patch Doll... at least according to your Aunt Trisha. You often kicked me in places that I didn't think I could ever be kicked in my stomach, and you thought my bladder was a great trampoline. It makes perfect sense, since you love to bounce now. I should have known. Also, I know of other mothers who have said there babies were QUITE active at night, but to be honest, Colin, you never were as I was trying to sleep. I thank you for that. I also thank you for the fact that for the first, almost ten months of your life, with the exception of a few understandable nights, you've been a great sleeper. It's as if your activity level outside of the womb is the same as when it was inside. Now if you would just enjoy napping more. I understand, though. Who can nap when there's a whole new world to discover? That doesn't mean I won't try to get you to nap, though. Sorry, kid. Them's the brakes.

I'm just amazed at how fast time has gone, lil' man. Seriously, time has flown so much since you've been born, and I can hardly believe it. You are no longer the teeny, tiny, lil' man we brought home from the hospital. You're just growing up too fast. Now as much as I would like to stop time, I understand I can't, but in some ways, I know I don't want to stop it. I love watching you learn new things every single day. I love the look of intense concentration as you touch something new, or find a toy you like to play with, or something you like to bang on. I also love that same intense concentration as you army crawl your way to the dog's water dish (and are QUICKLY WISKED AWAY from said water dish) and as you pull yourself up to standing in various places. I also love how you find something to play with, and the look on your face, I swear, says that you're going to find a way to tear it apart one day.

I also love the way you babble, Colin. Sometimes, I think you're repeating words like "uh oh" or "Hey". Sometimes, you say things "Aaadaaa" or "Aaaabbaa" or "Daaadaaaa" or "Nanananana", but when I try to get you to repeat the word "Maamaaa", you won't do it. However, you do find a way to say it when you are cranky. You've also discovered that you can roll your tongue in a way that would make any Spanish teacher proud. Your father says you sound like a jake brake. We're not exactly sure how you do that, but it is pretty neat. Your father and I could do without the raspberries at the dinner table. We ask for the news, not the weather report, in the form of raining debris from whatever is in your mouth. It's not pleasant.

I will say, Colin, that these last ten months haven't been easy. You rocked our world in ways that nobody could ever describe to you in a way that you would understand until you have children of your own. It hasn't been easy. There were times where I've wondered whether or not I was being a good mother to you. I will have those times again, but just know this, it's worth every minute. Just to see you smile, to hear you laugh, and to see you do something for the first time; the joy and triumph in your eyes when you've finally figured it out. Also, even though you're not a big cuddlier, when you're ready to go to bed each night, you lay your head on my shoulder, and I hold you against me for a little while before I put you in your crib for the night. It's then that I realize that I won't be able to hold you like that forever and I cherish each moment I get with you, because one day, hugging your mother will be like inflicting a deadly disease upon you. I'm just glad that time is faarrr away.


Time has gone in a blur for me, Colin. Even though it's only been nearly a year since you were born, some of the things that have happened have been a blur. I know that before you were born, I wasn't sure what you were going to be like. I didn't know if you would be the ever-fussy, colicky baby who thought days were nights or nights were days. I didn't know what or who you would look like. I didn't know anything about you. I do know, that I'm a very blessed to have a happy, healthy lil' man. Everyone comments on how happy and good you are, Colin. I try not to let it go to my head, because that's a bad thing, Colin, but I'm happy that you are, and I sometimes can hardly believe it's in part because I'm actually doing okay as a parent.

I also know that your father and I could never do it alone. There will be times we will let you down, Colin. Not because we want to, but because we aren't perfect. It breaks my heart to realize this, but it's the truth. However, it gives me great comfort and joy to know that Your Heavenly Father will NEVER let you down. You are always under His protection, and you WILL know that. You are blessed because you have a wonderful family, two parents who love you more than anything in the world, and most importantly, a Heavenly Father who always guides, you, supports you, and will carry you through anything. I hope that if or when you read this some day, you will know this, Colin. It's my job and your father's job to tell you this. Trust in Him, Colin. He never let's you down.


Love,
Mama