The sweetest days …

Dear Collin,

It’s hard to believe you’re already three months old.

It’s less hard to believe that it took your mommy three days to finish writing and posting this. (Never mind that my grand plan was to post every month.) You tend to keep me pretty busy. Sometimes I think you have a radar for when I think you’re sleeping and sit down at the computer.

Not that I’m complaining, though.

The last three months have been the best days of our lives. You continually amaze your daddy and I, and we consider you our greatest accomplishment. He can’t wait to get home from work to see his bear, and I cherish the fact that I am able to be with you all day. It’s getting harder to remember life without you.

I'm with you all the time, but ironically, it was Daddy, not me, who saw you roll over for the first time, when you were 12 weeks old. And Grammy saw you smile for the first time, when you were three weeks old. I clearly need to stop leaving the room.

You have a very sunny disposition and grace us with many smiles and laughs. You hate having shirts put over your head and being lifted out of the bath (and here I thought you’d hate being in it), but your tears generally turn to smiles if we sing to you. “Collin the Bear,” sung to the tune of “Winnie the Pooh,” always gets those dimples flashing.

You like to talk -- “Ah-goo” is your word of choice –- and are becoming chattier by the day. The stuffed bears over your changing table are your best pals, and you talk and smile when you see them. You get excited when you see the baby in pictures on my computer, and you also like to look in the mirror. You love being outside, and will someday be very grateful to Daddy, since my idea of nature is an outdoor outlet mall.

You generally only cry when you’re tired or hungry, the two areas in which we have faced the most challenges.

From Day One, you had no interest in sleeping alone, and while we started out on the couch, it didn’t take you long to claim our bed as your own. I am starting to think that you believe that we went out and bought a $5,000 memory-foam mattress FOR YOU. And while your pediatrician would prefer that you sleep in your own bed, you clearly feel differently, and will go ballistic if you are moved away from Daddy. He very kindly donates the crook of his arm to you, night after night, even though you pat (and pull) his chest hair as you drift off to sleep, resulting in sweet dreams for you and a rash for him.

At least the cats are getting use out of the pack and play.

You started sleeping through the night around two months, and after your last feeding of the night (around 2 a.m.; you’re a night owl like your parents), we generally don’t hear from you until at least 8:30 a.m., and on most mornings, closer to 10. Contrary to what Grammy thinks, we will eventually evict you, but for now, we can’t exactly complain about getting a full night’s sleep.

Breastfeeding has been the other area where things haven’t exactly gone as planned. I never wanted to give you formula, but when you wouldn’t eat the first night we were home from the hospital, I caved quickly. It turns out you have a short tongue – like Daddy – and I have short nipples, which is something I am sure you never desired to know about your mother. In short, it’s a bad combination. However, with the help of a lactation consultant up at Swedish (and a silicone breast shield, the greatest thing ever invented), things have come along to the point where you are nursing up to eight times a day.

It wasn’t easy, and on some days it’s still painful, but it gives me such a sense of pride to be able to feed you, even though I am afraid I am going to smell like maple syrup until you leave for college, thanks to the herb I am taking to boost my supply. Once you got the hang of it, you realized you were all about the milk, and some days, I can barely keep up.

When you’re not eating or dozing in your nice queen-sized bed, you’re a very social guy. We go out most days, whether it be to Costco, out to dinner, or to visit friends. Fortunately, you don’t mind other people holding you (yet) and you don’t mind your carseat (yet). You have ridden the new light rail to Seattle twice, been on a ferry, met most of your extended family, attended your Aunt Krissy’s wedding, and shopped at the Nordstrom Anniversary Sale, where you “bought” me a very nice jacket for my birthday.

You clearly have good fashion sense.

Not surprisingly, you’re well-dressed to the point that Daddy has subtly suggested more than once that maybe you have enough clothes. (And yet he insisted you needed an Adidas tracksuit.) It’s so much fun to dress you in the clothes I envisioned you wearing before you were born. Soon you’ll be wearing shoes, which provides all kinds of new reasons for Daddy to glare at me. You have to understand that when he and I started dating, he only owned five shirts, so you’re off to a far better start.

But like him, you don’t need much to be content. As long as you’re fed and changed on a regular basis, a pacifier is clipped to your clothes and there are new batteries in your swing (and something to watch on TV while you’re in it, much to my chagrin), your life is pretty good.

And with you, Collin Jackson, our life is more than pretty good.

You are the love of our lives.

You are the answer to our prayers.

You are our Little Bear.

All my love,
Mommy