of many to come, I'm sure.
Thk loves shoes. I love shoes. Kylie is destined to love herself some shoes, and she got her first pair today!
They are so, so tiny next to THK's pair.
I took this photo of her on my phone on the way out of the Nike outlet:
"Yes! I got some shoes! I got some shoes!"
Her next pair will be a pair of awesome heels. Something that Mommy can buy to match!
Dear Kylie,
Today was your 2 month wellness check up at the pediatrician's office. Up until two days ago, I was telling people you were 6 weeks old. Where the heck did the time go?!
Last month, I told you that this next month would be better because I had a whole month of experience. You and I both know that that was a lie. I suck at this parenting thing, but you suck at being a good baby so I guess we're even. We're both learning and we're both trying, so I guess that's what counts.
The past two weeks have been really hard. Truth is, I'm still trying to figure out how to stop being a jerk about this whole thing. There are moments where I feel sorry for myself, for having this huge responsibility of having a baby but feeling unprepared and hopeless. Yes, you were wanted and planned for but what the fuck, why wasn't I more prepared? I am sorry I spend so much time crying. I am sorry I don't have more patience with you. I am sorry that sometimes, when you cry, I have to put you on the bed and walk out of the house. Some days, I hope the neighbors are not calling CPS on me. Other days, I hope they are.
Last Saturday, your dad had to go to Riverside to help your grandpa with some remodeling stuff. He left the house at 9am while you and I were still cuddling and asleep in bed. I don't know how you knew, but the minute the garage door closed, you woke up and screamed for breakfast. Only, I'd already given you breakfast at 4am. and again at 6am. and then again at 8am. I changed your diaper, stuck you back on my boob, and hoped for the best.
You fed for 15-20 minutes and instead of falling back asleep like you normally do in the mornings, you resumed your screaming. I rocked you, I sang to you, I bounced you up and down. We went for a walk, I put you in the boppy vibrating seat, I put you in the swing. 30 minutes later, you were still crying inconsolibly. I called your dad and asked him to come home, except he couldn't. We went for another walk. I fed you some more. I checked your diaper, over and over. I gave you a bath. You cried.
Finally, at noon, I called your other grandpa, my dad, and asked him if he could please come over for a little while. When he arrived an hour later, you and I were sitting on the couch and crying together; I didn't know what else to do. Grandpa stayed for an hour and for that entire hour, you slept in his arms quietly. You would think that this would make me feel relieved, but it only made me feel like a bigger failure. What was I doing wrong?
Grandpa put you down for the afternoon and left. A few minutes after he was gone, you woke and resumed crying until your dad came home at 8pm. When he walked in the door, I handed you to him, went straight to Cherry on Top, and cried while eating $6 worth of frozen yogurt. It was one of the worst days of my life, and I'm ashamed to admit it, but while I ate and wished for my prebaby days, I felt redeemed when your dad texted me that you were crying and he wasn't able to console you. Maybe I was a failure as a mom, but my partner in life was also a failure and I wasn't alone! Awful, right?
I made plans to take you out by myself this past Saturday- errands, a birthday party, hanging out with some of my friends for dinner. Your dad was going to Riverside again to work on our new car (he is a little ghetto and wanted to customize our Rav4; don't tell him I said so, but it does look kind of awesome with the new exhaust pipe and step bars and whatever else he did to it) and although apprehensive, I was looking forward to going out with you.
Thing is, I'd spent the majority of Saturday morning crying. And Friday. and Thursday. and by the time it was time to leave the house with you, I couldn't do it. The week had been a series of highs and lows, you smiling consistantly at me vs you crying for hours on end, multiple viewings of shitty homes for sale vs our first dream home offer rejection. There was even a crying episode while shopping at Nordstrom Rack- I was happily looking at a rack of jeans when a young couple walked by and called the jeans I was looking at "mom jeans"... and then I realized that 1- I thought that the jeans were cute and 2- ohmyfuckinggod, I AM A MOM LOOKING AT MOM JEANS. It was a rough week.
Your dad asked me if he should, instead, take you to Riverside with him and I felt so relieved to be able to spend the day alone. Driving away from home, I felt so light and free! followed immediately by guilt. and then I cried all the way around the neighborhood and then returned home once you and your dad were on the road. I sat at home and contemplated canceling all of my plans for the day. Your dad called me and encouraged me to go out, to enjoy my day, to feel ok with leaving you because you'd be spending your day with your grandparents who would spoil you with attention and love. I ran errands. I went to the party. I walked Old Town Pasadena and did a little shopping. I went and got a massage. I ate gelato and read half a book.
and the whole time, for some reason, I thought of you and your chubby little face. I missed the way your sweaty plams smelled and the way your hair brushed against my face when you rested your head on my shoulder. I missed the smell of your milky breath and the sound of you snoring in my arms. I missed you. and when I got home, you cooed and babbled as you sat in my lap and I couldn't believe that I had missed out on you for a whole day.
You got your first series of shots today at the doctor's office and you were a total champ!
At 12lbs, you have doubled in size since birth and are in the 75th percentile.
You are 22 1/4 inches tall and have a head circumference of 39cm, both are 50th percentile.
You are a dark little baby, and people comment on your tan frequently. I promise you, you are your daddy's baby; I have no idea how it came to be that I gave birth to a 1/2 filipino+1/2 american indian little baby.
You have incredible neck control, love tummy time, and scream any time you are left alone and not held.
You stop crying, 95% of the time, when I sing Twinkle Twinkle to you.
Your dad calls you KylieBear.
Your dad gives you daily pep talks about the dangers of having a boyfriend.
You have outgrown all of your preemie clothes, and some of your 0-3month onesies.
You love taking showers with me and letting the water run down your face.
You had your first explosive diaper --> poop in the bath water --> poop in my hand as I hold you and Dad cleans and refills the babytub episode. I hope it is your last.
Your armpits smell like a teenage boys and I have to put baby powder there to combat the stink.
I am dealing with a little bit of postpartum, I know this, but you are perfect and I do adore you, no matter what it may seem like from the outside.
I promise, next month will be better.
love,
Mama
When Kylie is feeding, she likes to kick her fat little feet against me and her free hand always ends up in a fist next to her face. Her pinky is almost always sticking up. Lilsis calls it Kylie's "fancy" pinky... THK calls it her gay pinky. :T
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