The Flip Side

Dear Ophelia, Parenthood is strange. I’m not talking about the delirium caused by sleep deprivation or the ever-varying color of your poop. No, what is strangest thing about parenthood is how I can feel on top of the world in the morning but by the time I put you to bed I feel like my spirit has been trampled by a thousand angry feet. Or the other way around. It is shocking to me that I can oscillate so steadily from elation to complete terror and back again without much even happening in the intervening hours. I'm either the best mother that ever walked the face of the planet because you having been giggling for hours straight or I'm the reproductive scum of the earth because I clipped your fingernail too short and now your baby finger is bleeding a teensy little bit. I am the Doctor Jeckyl and Mr. Hyde of motherhood.

Some days go like this: We wake up in the morning at almost exactly the same time and spend a good hour just making silly faces at each other and laughing together in bed. You look at me like I’m your personal savior, like the sun rises and sets in my eyes. It’s pretty much the biggest ego boost anyone could ask for. When your dad finally gets up to change your diaper (He made me a very generous diaper-changing offer while I was pregnant that I think he may regret now. He changes an inordinate amount of diapers for someone who works 50 hours a week outside the home) I just think to myself how lucky I am that I get to spend the whole day with my baby. My baby. Everything I do is suddenly fun. Grocery shopping doesn’t feel like a chore because I just babble to you the whole time and people come up and tell me how gorgeous you are, as if I haven’t noticed. I make mental lists of all the things I want to do with you when you’re old enough. Even if I’ve done it a thousand times when I get to do it with you, it will all feel new and exciting again. I see glimpses of what you might look like at 2, 5, 16…and I am just bursting with excitement to watch your life unfold and to be part of that unfolding. I can’t wait to introduce you to everything I love and watch you explore the world with unadulterated wonder. Those days are the best.

But other days look very different. Other days when you flash your perfect gummy smile at me, instead of feeling the usual ego boost, I think to myself, “This kid has way too much faith in me. I will inevitably screw this motherhood thing up. I will inevitably screw her up.” Sometimes when I have a half hour to myself I’ll take a bath and feel a sickening panic spread across my chest. It’s the realization that whatever happens to you for the rest of your life, for better or for worse, I am ultimately responsible for it. Suddenly the things my own mother went through, the tough choices she had to make and the guilt she expressed to me years later make a lot more sense. But most of all I feel fragmented. You came from my body and now for the rest of your life you will live outside of me, maybe even far away from me someday. It’s as if the tenderest parts of me have coalesced to form a separate person and now everything that you are vulnerable to, those parts of me are vulnerable to as well. It sounds weird, yes.  But it feels A LOT weirder.

I tell you all of this not to freak you out or make you think your presence has somehow damaged me. I tell you this because I want you to understand how fundamentally you have changed my life. I am split in two now. Even when you’re a grown woman I will still imagine you as my satellite, forever orbiting my consciousness. You can’t escape me and I can’t escape you. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Love always,




Just a reminder

Dear Ophelia, I've never been able to describe what love feels like. I can remember writing my wedding vows to your dad and feeling as if words had failed me for the very first time. I could never adequately describe what it felt like to be in love, to want to commit my life and affection to another human being. Love's circumference was simply too big for my own words to wrap around. And that's how I feel about you. I cannot do justice to the intensity of the actual emotion by waxing poetic about it. But, as I'm sure you will one day learn, love is not just a feeling. Feeling love is easy. Showing love is what takes patience and selflessness and intention. The truth is, you may never really care what it feels like to love you. And that's okay. But I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that you will care what my love looks like. That is what will shape your foundation and bond us for life. The way I show you my love is what you can hold on to.

In the morning you are awake hours before I would choose to be. This is when you are at your happiest. My eyelids are so heavy with sleep that it takes all my focus to keep them open. But I can't miss this. Your sweet coos, the way you pump your arms as if eventually you'll get somewhere. That's where my love is. It's in our midnight feedings. You struggle to latch onto me. But when you do we just stare at each other in hazy wonder and both fall easily back to sleep. That's where my love is.

My love is in the box of childhood mementos, books, toys and letters I've collected for years, the box that used to lie meaningless under my own bed but now lies with anticipation under yours. My love is the tangible list of names that grew for years before you were born. Making that list always felt like killing time, like I was merely waiting. But there was so much love in those years of waiting. And while I was never patient, I was always hopeful. There was always "someday". Someday finally became today.

My love is in the the nursery furniture I've rearranged again and again, the repulsive iron supplement I drank while pregnant with you, the way I pick out your earwax and wipe away your boogers without a second thought. (What's yours is mine, right? Ok, yeah, that's gross) It was there in the hours I labored on the bed, wondering if I could really do this, wondering if we would both be okay when all was said and done. It was there in the moment your papa caught you and brought you to my chest. And it was there in the hours we laid in bed with your after you were born, counting your fingers and toes, exclaiming over your perfection and announcing your name with pride.

Ophelia, my love for you might be hard to describe but nothing is easier than showing it to you. It's in absolutely everything I do now, in every minute of every day. It shows up in all the ways I intend it to and in many ways that surprise me. Sometimes I wonder if love is enough, and if I am enough of a mother for you. All I can say is I will never stop trying. You will never have to wonder how I feel about you. I might be shitty at a lot of things but that will never be one of them. You should know that you will never have to go looking for my love. It will always find you first.




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What's in a Name?

Dearest Baby Girl,

I am about to scream. The only thing preventing me from doing so is the fact that you are strapped to my chest, fast asleep. I dare not wake monsters. Or babies. I am about to scream because just as I had two paragraphs written about how I was rejected from SF State's MFA program and how your dad inadvertantly deleted my last (nearly complete, and hugely personal) blog current blog post up and disappeared. Yes, writing and I are going through a rough patch. At times like these I figure I have to decide whether the universe is telling me I suck and to give up or if it's telling me that I better learn to persevere through piddly crap like this if I ever expect to get published. I guess I'll go with the latter...but that's another blog post.

The last blog I wrote you was about our family. The Watts family, that is. Actually it was kind of a depressing post about how many of my family members who I assumed would be over the moon to get a peak at you have not even mentioned coming to visit nearly two months after your birth. You don't need to read about that. Nobody does really. If in 15 years you have some burning desire to know my thoughts on the subject, just ask me. I make sure to carefully file away rejections in the back of my mind for many years. Instead of that post I thought I'd write about your name; a very special but not so heated subject.

Your full name is Ophelia Catherine Watts Reggiardo- one first name, two middle names and one last name. In that order. Yes, I realize that many will think I'm cruel or selfish for giving you such a lengthy name. But those people make me laugh. First of all, they have underestimated the mental capacity of my daughter. I have no doubt that by two and a half you'll be able to recite your entire name with perfect diction to anyone that asks for it. I am very verbal, your dad is very verbal. You cannot escape it. Secondly, the names we gave you are a gift, each one chosen because it means something to us and we hope it will mean something to you.

Ophelia. Origin: Greek. Meaning: Helper. Odd as it seems, while I was studying Hamlet in college the name Ophelia never popped out at me as a potential baby name though it's one of my favorite Shakespearean plays. Maybe that's because the character herself is quite tragic. I just remember that oneday before I was even pregnant with you I asked your dad, "Hey, how about the name Ophelia for a girl?" Your dad was used to these kinds of questions and I was used to his standard reaction of scrunching up his face and stating a decisive "Nah." But this time he said "I like it." The only other names that came remotely close to getting that reaction were Violet, Theta and Penelope. When we told your Aunt Mary about the name Penelope she threw a fit like you wouldn't believe and swore up and down that Penelope was HER name for HER future daughter. Of course this only gave your dad more reason to act like it was our top choice. We decided not to officially name you until we met you but I think we both knew all along that you would be Ophelia. I feel like I knew it even before we knew you were a girl. There are plenty of beautiful names out there that I loved (and still do) but we knew that you deserved a unique and unusual name. You deserve a name that won't get lost amongst the crowd. I know you will be the type of person that is difficult to forget. Your name had to match that. And thus, you are Ophelia. Often you are just O. Or Baby O, which Aunt Mary likes to call you. When I hear your name I am proud but I remind myself that maybe you won't love it as much as we do. Maybe you will be like I was as a kid when I decided Jennifer was a horrible name because it had the word "fur" in it and it made me sound hairy. But at least you will know why we thought you needed such a unique name and love us anyway.

Your middle name is Catherine, for your late great-aunt, Catherine Mountjoy. I wish all the time that she could see you and hold you and most of all that you could know her like I did. She was a brilliant woman, fluent in multiple languages, a supreme Scrabble player, a librarian, a wife, a mother. My own life and passions were influenced by her in so many ways and I am still mourning the fact that there are so many questions I will never be able to ask her. Now that I am a mother I wish even more that she was here to give that advice and to share in the joy of knowing you. You will get to know her through your grandpa, Uncle Daniel, cousins Ashlin and Gabe and through me. But I still struggle with how colossally unfair it is that you will never meet her so I wanted something permanent of hers for you. That's why I gave you her name.

Watts is your second middle name as well as my maiden name and current middle name. Until I met your dad I was adament that if and when I got married I would keep the name Watts. I won't say that when we met I suddenly had a change of heart and decided I desperately needed to be a Reggiardo. The truth is it pissed me off that your dad wanted me to change my name. I remember us fighting about it mere weeks after we started dating (Yup, that's when he told me he wanted to marry me. We move fast around these parts.) But I saw some problems with having a different last name than my spouse. What about our children? I truly dislike hyphenated last names and I wasn't about to give you some strange hybrid like Weggiardo or Regatts. Your dad, for being the NPR-listening, Obama-loving, tax-cut-hating liberal he is, is awfully conservative in his personal life and I knew he would never give up his own last name. Yeah, that pissed me off even more. I can't say what officially made me decide to take Reggiardo as my last name but I know that I didn't do it for me, I did it for your father. Some might call it an act of weakness and indict me as an anti-feminist (um, yeah right) but in some ways I'm very proud of my decision. I am not always known for my flexibility and softness. I can be downright pigheaded at times. But this time I took a different path. But I kept Watts as my middle name because it's very much a part of my identity. And now it's your name too. And guess what? Your dad took it as a second middle name too. See, I still got my way a little bit :)

Reggiardo. I'm sorry my love, but you will be spelling this name for everyone that you meet until the end of time. Nobody can pronounce it correctly and even your own grandmother could not spell it for the longest time. But it's a good name and I am proud to give it to you since it reminds me of the wonderful family I married into. Your Granny Mimi I'm sure can tell you about your Reggiardo ancestors and well as the ancestors from her side of the family. As she once told me, it might be nice to pretend your entire lineage is about ravioli but it just isn't the case. Yes, you've got a big chunk of Italian in you, both from me and from your dad, but you are also English, Austrian, German, Polish and Cajun. Don't forget that just because your name sounds like a pasta dish.

Somehow I feel like this blog barely skims the surface of my thoughts on your name but it will have to do for now. Here are some pictures of your recent adventures.

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A Series of Fortunate Events

Dearest daughter, I cannot sleep because there is a raucous party going on two houses over. I'm pretty sure these people are older than your grandparents and they're partying HARD. Good for them. Bad for me.

I've been thinking a lot lately about my decision to become a mother so young. Yes, you were unplanned. Well, sort of. You came earlier than expected. Considering that I had you at 23 you might expect that you were early by several years, that your dad and I planned on having children "someday". You would be wrong. Originally your dad and I wanted to get married this year in the spring. Provided that I had a decent job by that time we thought we would try to have a baby and get pregnant sometime within the year. Turns out the two of us are a fertility match made in heaven (sorry, I know you're probably grossed out thinking about your parents in this way) and you were conceived sometime in May 2011.

But like I said, I always planned on being a young mother. I am fully aware that this sort of plan flies in the face of most current attitudes on the subject. My peers and I were always told that in order to be successful in life we must go to college, spend our 20s traveling, working on a career and getting our jollies out before finding a nice guy/gal to marry in our 30s, buying a house and settling down BEFORE having children. Any deviation in this plan (god forbid an unplanned pregnancy) would result in a sense of permanent discontent over our lost youth and shattered dreams. To be honest, this doesn't seem like a bad plan if appeals to you. There's plenty to be said for financial security and pursuing a career before having children. But I just knew this would never make me happy. I knew I wanted to be a mother so much that I would have to rework that sequence of events, or at least the timeline in which they happened. So while it is true that we didn't plan to have you when we did, you were very much wanted and expected.

Ophelia, at this point I want to make something clear. Motherhood has never been negotiable for me. That said, neither has having a career. I desperately want a career. I want it not only so that I can contribute to our family financially but so that I can feel fulfilled as an individual. I want to be your example of a woman in love with the work she does. I want you to become a woman in love with the work she someday does. Building this career is essential to my long-term happiness. But that career can wait a little while. Part of the beauty of having you before becoming more financially secure is that I didn't have to make the decision of whether or not to take time off from a job that I love to be with you. I don't have that job yet so the decision was totally clear. I get to spend a large chunk of time with you as a baby before jumping back into the work force (or graduate school as the case may be). I love this! I also love that you get to be with your grandparents while they are still young. They have so much wisdom to impart upon you, for you to miss out on really knowing them would be a shame.

Sometimes it's difficult to remember why I decided to be the first of my friends to take the plunge into parenthood. It can be isolating and lonely at times. But then I remind myself that your dad and I made this decision very intentionally and our reasons are still very solid. I remind myself that we still have all the resources we need to give you the childhood you deserve. You will have summers spent at the lake with your grandparents, take camping trips to Yellowstone, learn to craft, read endless piles of books, bake blackberry pies from fruit you picked yourself, build tree forts and love learning at an awesome public school. That's the childhood I want for you and it's the one I intend on giving to you. My age plays no factor in that.

I just might be able to fall asleep now despite the fact that the party still isn't over but I'll write a little more about you before trying. You are changing every day and I am always in awe of you. You have started mimicking sounds, smiling and even laughing sometimes. It sends my heart soaring to see your pretty smile. You are such a beautiful baby. Everyone says so. A random stranger walked across a restaurant the other day to say how beautiful she thought you were. People always comment on how peaceful you are too. Serenity- that was one of the blessings we drew for you on the day of your birth. You already embody it. You are happiest in my arms and often start fussing if you're away from me for too long. I feel guilty for thinking it but it secretly makes me happy. I love being your favorite person. You're mine :)

That's all for now, my love.




Les Petite Plaisirs

Dear Ophelia, I will make this post a short one before bed time. You are snoozing in your froggy bouncer in the living room with Daddy. I just need to share this story with you before the memory fades.

Tonight I was feeding you on the couch. As usual you began drifting off to sleep while you ate, making sweet squeaking sounds and every now and then eating ravenously for only a seconds. When it seemed you had finally fallen asleep I pulled you away from me. Your mouth was wide open and there was still a little pool of milk inside your cheek that you hadn't swallowed. And then the most beautiful thing happened. You laughed! Laughed! The most perfect giggle of a laugh and your whole face lit up. Better than first dates, first kisses, first 'I love you's, the first time I saw you laugh was the purest, most poignant dose of happiness, the best 'first' imaginable.

I'm so lucky to have each of these moments with you. I hope that by writing them down I am forced to fully appreciate their preciousness. And when you read about them someday I hope you are reminded of how deeply I love you .




Here Comes the Sun

Dearest Ophelia, Something amazing happened this winter. Something that hasn't happened to me since I was a young child. This winter I've made it all the way to March without experiencing seasonal depression. True, it has been a somewhat mild winter here in the Bay Area, but hey, I lived in San Diego for four years and even then was not able to escape my annual bout of despair and sadness. This year I worried even more that winter would mean a complete emotional hibernation with the addition of all those lovely postpartum hormones swimming through me. But somehow I was spared. I'm pretty sure I have you to thank for that.

All the sleepless nights (ok not sleepless. But certainly "sleep less"), loss of personal time and the inability accomplish anything without simultaneously jiggling a newborn on my hip, all of that has felt, dare I say...easy. Oddly enough, I felt the same say about your birth. Though it was the worst pain I've ever experienced and I harbored my doubts along the way, the whole thing went off without a hitch. Yes, motherhood (and you) have been incredibly good to me and I think that has made it easy to enjoy our new life together.

But I am certainly not under the illusion that life will always be this way. And while you may be a very "good baby" (by the way, I hate that term. It implies that babies that cry often are "bad babies", which is of course, BS) I know that you will have your own good and bad days, and maybe even your own good and bad seasons like myself. It is not your job to be the "good baby" or "good kid". It's my job to be the good mother and to make the transitions throughout your life easier. At the same time, it is also my job to make myself happy. Not just for myself, but for you too, so that I can give to you. Winters may not always be this easy peasy but there are so many good things to remember, so many things that make me happy. I wrote a list to remind myself of those things. I'm sure the list is endless but I've cut it off at 50. 50 things to remind myself of when it feels like the rain just won't stop coming, literally and figuratively. 50 simple things that remind me that life is good, just like you do. And even better is that more and more we will be able to enjoy these things together. Some of them may seem too simple, or maybe even odd but I am a firm believer that happiness can be simple. Sometimes it must be simple when the bigger picture is somewhat bleak. I need to learn to love simple pleasures more and I need to teach you the same thing.

I love you, babycakes!



In no particular order, here they are!

  1. Shopping at thrift stores
  2. Sewing
  3. Making felt crafts
  4. Writing
  5. Going to the fabric store
  6. Eating on the patio at Jupiter’s on a sunny day, avec beer
  7. Crossing things off my list
  8. Hiking
  9. Picnicking at Tilden
  10. Going to the Exploratorium
  11. Taking drives
  12. Baking and decorating cakes
  13. Watching movies and falling asleep on the couch
  14. Going to sleep in a bed that’s been made
  15. Reading Martha Stewart
  16. Blogging
  17. Reading other peoples’ blogs
  18. Reminiscing
  19. Ordering appetizers AND dessert with a meal
  20. Going to garage sales/ flea markets
  21. Photography
  22. Taking hot baths
  23. Drinking cocktails made by Rob
  24. Making pancakes on Sunday morning
  25. Deep conversations
  26. Weekend trips to new places
  27. Spending time at my parents’ house
  28. Hot tubs
  29. Making/buying things to pretty-ify the apartment
  30. Waking up to a clean apartment
  31. Waking up early and getting things done
  32. Waking up to Ophelia
  33. Reading until I fall asleep
  34. Watching my plants grow
  35. Girls’ Nights
  36. Playing Scrabble (and winning)
  37. Lunch with friends
  38. Writing our weekly dinner menu
  39. Daydreaming about future international travel
  40. Actually traveling internationally
  41. Making lists
  42. Pinterest!
  43. Reading old letters and looking at old pictures
  44. Taking walks around Lake Temescal
  45. Waxing my eyebrows
  46. Getting a nice haircut
  47. Listening to audiobooks
  48. Talking on the phone with friends
  49. Tuesday night dinners with Mary
  50. Summer plays at CalShakes



Offbeat Mama Reject

Hello again, sweet daughter. Today I have a previously-written letter to post to your blog. The (somewhat embarassing) thing about this letter is that it has been rejected. I sent it in last week to Offbeat Mama in the hopes of having it published on their site. Um. They sent it back. Within a few hours. I wouldn't take this rejection so personally but these ladies are MY PEOPLE. They're the other writers, crafters, homebirthers, cloth-diaper-ers that just happen to be mamas as well! It's my little safe haven on the vast expanse of the interweb. And they rejected me. For the second time. Meh. Oh well, this letter was written for you anyway so I will suck it up and just post it for you, the tiny love of my life. Enjoy! Dear Ophelia,

Today I made a decision. Today I decided that I would stop looking over the fence, stop obsessing over the greener grass. Today I decided that not only is what I have good enough, what I have is exactly what I want.

You see, my dear daughter, I’ve always been a frequent partaker of envy. I’ve envied others’ jobs, relationships, houses, crafting abilities…the list goes on. At times envy has even become a hobby in itself when I would spend large chunks of time actively comparing my life to everyone else’. This is probably why I should be banned from reading the blogs of super creative, well-dressed people with good taste in home décor. The resulting feeling is always one of inadequacy. Her husband loves yoga? Rob won’t even go to a class with me. Stuff in her Etsy shop is selling like gangbusters? I can’t even get my act together enough to set up an account. And while I hate to admit it, when I unexpectedly became pregnant, my jealousy skyrocketed. I envied women who had accomplished more in their careers before having kids. I envied couples that had gotten married before becoming pregnant. I envied anyone that appeared to have planned shit out a little bit better than I had.

And then came you.

I’ve heard mothers describe the feeling of first meeting their babies as one of recognition, as if they have known them all along. And although I could see myself reflected in your red hair, your tiny bow lips and your sweet gummy smile, I could not help but feel like you were too perfect to be mine. That perfection that I had always felt was so far away, so untouchable, was now dozing at my breast.

As you can imagine, sweet Ophelia, your birth changed everything. The thing is, it HAD to change everything. How could I stand to reason that my life was somehow insufficient if it now included a person whose perfection had struck me so profoundly? And how could I be the best mother possible to this tiny, flawless being if I was always modeling an attitude of ungratefulness for all I have? How would she ever learn to just be happy when her own mom constantly expressed the need for more, more, more? Though I have only had a month to adjust to motherhood I can tell you beyond a shadow of a doubt that I will do almost anything to ensure your happiness, even if that means doing one of the hardest things of all: looking within myself and deciding to make a change.

Today I made that decision. Today I decided that you and your dad and our spastic cats and smelly rabbit and this pretty cool apartment in this pretty shitty neighborhood are just what I want. And that my husband is sweet and hilarious and sexy, even if he doesn’t do yoga with me. And that I am creative and smart and resourceful even if I don’t have that Etsy shop going just yet and that writing career is taking a little longer than anticipated. And I’m going to make a damn good mother because I’m all of those things and because my love for you is fierce enough that it has forced me to finally see things clearly.

What I really want to say, Ophelia, is that life is good. Thank you for reminding me.

Love always,




Ophelia Bedelia


Hello my lovely daughter! While this blog is unlikely to be read by you for some years (unless you happen to be a baby genius. truthfully I wouldn't be surprised) I am writing it about you, for you. But since all of your family members and a few non-family members would like frequent updates on you they will be able to read it too. I hope that's ok with you :)

You are exactly one month old today. I caught a glimpse of the clock at 6:36pm, the exact time you were born. I looked out the window and thought about how the sky looked that night from the birth tub in our living room. It was the clearest winter day followed by the most beautiful twilight and the sweetest night. I remember every second of it. One of these days I will finally be able to right your birth story. You are a pretty easy going baby for the most part but you don't like to be put down very often. That's okay, I love holding you oh so much. But one of these days I'll have both the space in mind and in hand to be able to recall that amazing day.

Here are a few highlights of the last few weeks:


You were born on Wednesday, February 8, 2012 which coincidentally happens to be your "Aunt" Kalli's birthday. Those few hours after you were born I remember lying together with you and your dad in our bed while everyone else bussled about outside our room. Your papa and I just beamed at you and he kept saying how he couldn't believe how perfect you were and counting your fingers and toes. The midwives came in to ask if we had given you a name and when we told them we were naming you Ophelia they both smiled and agreed that it suited you perfectly.


Your dad has this way he looks at you, sort of a cross between pride and wonder. When he holds you you often just stare up at him. You don't do this with anyone else, not even with me. My theory is that since he used to talk to my belly so often his voice is the one you recognize the most. Sometimes when you start crying all he has to do is come over and give you a few kisses on the head and you settle back down immediately. He certainly has the touch.


Lots of people came to visit you in the first few weeks after you were born. My cousin Ashlin who lives in San Diego was up visiting her boyfriend Matt in San Francisco so they came to see you! They brought us a delicious lunch and a special stuffed cold virus. I think I need to put a picture up for you to get the concept.


And of course Granny Mimi and Grandpa Phil.

I'm getting pretty tired and you're finally asleep so I might actually be able to eat some dinner. I post much more tomorrow but before I go here are 5 things I never want to forget about you at this age:

1) The silly noises you make. Sometimes you sound just like a puppy. Sometimes you're all squeeks. Other times I could swear you giggle.

2) Nursing you. I love stroking your hair and watching you eat. You're so serious about it as if there are lives in the hanging. Nursing always puts you right you sleep. You're not the cleanest eater. There's usually a dribble of milk running down your chin after you're done, passed out in my arms.

3) Your startle reflex. It always cracks me up seeing you throw your hands up in the "caught me red-handed" pose. I try not to think about how quickly something so minor like this that seems so permanent will be gone in a matter of months. You're already growing up.

4) The way you look at me with complete trust. It always feels like you're saying to me "I know you'll always take care of me." Of course I will, but damn that kind of trust is a lot of pressure.

5) How alert and crazy you are in the morning. When you wake up, boy, do you wake up! When your dad and I are trying to get a few more minutes of sleep you are always squawking and waving your arms around. It's impossible to sleep but if I have to get up it's surely the sweetest thing to awaken me :)


Love always,