circa 2008.

I was browsing through all my picture folders on my laptop the other day, for some unknown reason. I stumbled upon lots of old photos--a few "oohs" and "awws", lots of smiles, infinite memories, but one picture stopped me in my tracks. It melted my heart. It made me a little nostalgic. It was a picture of Mason from the first day of November. His hair fell slightly over his eyebrows and his smile, oh that precious little smile. More of a smirk and a small replica of the real thing. It's his totally over the camera, but still willing to please you smile and he still does it. In fact he probably did it three times today. I hope he still will this November and many more.

This picture is the last picture I see any remnants of a baby in Mason; he still had cherub cheeks and a baby face. I didn't remember him being turning in to a little boy, there was never one moment where I thought, that was it, he is grown out of a toddler. When I saw this picture, I scoured through the folders, by December his face had thinned and he acquired a familiar, yet totally different look. I knew then, this was his last picture as my little baby Mason. Before the hundreds of pictures of little kid Mason. As I stared at the picture I smiled and gazed in to his eyes through the computer screen. I tried to remember what his voice sounded like that day or the way his cheeks felt, because they looked so soft and so delicate.I eventually clicked the X and his last baby picture faded off the screen. At first I was sad, but then I remembered it was time to go pick him up from preschool and I couldn't wait to get out of the house to get him. To feel his cheeks and listen to his voice but especially to see his smile. His big kid cheeks and his big kid voice. And his same, phony, smile that I cannot get enough of.

ocho.

Maximo,

Guess what?! You are EIGHT months old today. As in...eight, right, not a typo. Psh. Don't think I am allowing the next month to fly by so quickly. I mean I control your life because I'm your mother, remember that when your five or seventeen. Oh by the way, hello you are not five or seventeen years old, please stop STANDING on my furniture like your some show off toddler, because you are NOT. I mean I know you think you deserve a drivers license and a 12-pack of corona, but umm, no. Even though you are eight months old, your still a bitty, well my bitty.


I swear I birthed a teething, crawling infant. It seems like Mason was a baby for SO long, you were born and now your all wild and huge. Not to mention extremely mobile. I could totally handle you just relaxing. I mean lets go ahead and quadruple my work. I no longer need a vacuum. It's a miracle. You pick up the smallest, most non-existent crumbs. You make me feel like our rug could be on Hoarders. Stop growing, pretty please. Oh better yet, just slow down. I guess it wouldn't fare well to be a 17 pound first grader. I'm going to create a freeze your baby potion and become a billionaire. I have a few mom friends who'd invest.


I guess I'll take the trade off of adorable smiles for the sleepless newborn nights. Oh wait a sec...there was no trade off in our world. Meaning I'm getting jipped. I admit sometimes you are extra cute and cuddly in the middle of the night, I guess that's nature's way of ensuring mother's actually tend to their screaming babies in the middle of the night-extra cuteness. Who can resist dimples, even at 3 AM? I mean really you have my permission, my blessing, whatever you need, to start sleeping through the night though, promise. Maybe I need a potion for that too. I'll be a trillionaire, because one thing parents like more than teensy cuddly, newborns, is sleeping-all -night infants and children.



It's true, I love you when your sleeping but I love you more awake. Don't go getting any ideas...keep napping like a champ. You nap so good I think you could win a Gold. Obviously napping should be a winter Olympic event. What else is there to do in the winter? Sleeping and smiling. Sounds like a good winter to mama. I basically want to shrink you down and put you in my pocket and keep you this sweet, loving-life, happiest-baby-on-the-block, baby boy, Maximo. I know it's not an option so I'll relish all the snuggles and snotty nosed slobbered kisses and the midnight wakings (sigh) today. Not tomorrow, not next month.



Stay awesome and adorable, munchkin.

Loving you,
Mama

Ready or not.

Three years ago today, I was not a mother. I was around eight months pregnant in the hospital in labor, trying to sleep, but anxiously awaiting the impeding arrival of a precious baby boy. Three years ago today I didn't know Mason. It's so strange to think back to life pre-baby (or babies), but believe it or not, it existed. Not knowing the challenges or the extreme joys I was in for. Just three years ago. Three years ago today, I'd never smelled his fresh newborn forehead. I never knew how small a newborn could be. I never fathomed what five pounds of baby actually looked like. So small. From head to toe you were tiny. Perfect. Perfectly tiny. I never counted his toes or tried with all my might to cut tiny toenails without clipping off some skin. I never traced his spine with my fingers and watched him breathe all night long. Just three years ago.Three years is a long time, you can almost get a bachelors degree in a subject of your choice, you actually can if you have no life. You can train for mutliple marathons, birth three children, travel the world. Hell you could probably walk from Mexico City to Vancouver, Canada, if you wanted to.

But three years goes quick. So quick that I still smell NICU soap on my hands if I close my eyes. I can still remember the taste of the pasta salad we lived on for a week while we waited for Mason to be discharged from the hospital. Three years has flown by.I'm not quite sure what it is about three. But three is daunting. Atleast for me. I'm sure nothing is frightening or upsetting about three for Mr. Mason. But three means he is no longer a toddler. I was a little apprehensive to be a mom to a 'kid' but a friend of mine reassured me he was only a 'preschooler', nonetheless, he's no longer a toddler.

It's pretty simple to see just looking as his narrowed cheeks, his thinned fingers, and listening to his totally audible speech. No baby babbling. Words. He speaks sentences, that is so preschool. His hands no longer possess the roll where his wrist meets his palms. And he most certainly does not have the same cheeks he was born with.I'm really not sure about three. Maybe it's because two was so fun, so good to us, that three can't possibly top it. I'm just not quite sure.

I'll have a preschooler tomorrow. Just three years ago I had a newborn. That went quick.
I watched a video of Mason's first steps the other day. It looked like someone was holding a gun to his back, he wavered in nearly each small step, but it was such a success, he was walking. Today I watched him run down the street. He ran quickly and with ease. Totally steady, not one wavering step.It's funny how people try to get prepared for a new baby. Prewash, double rinse, rewash in Dreft. Loads of laundry, swaddling blankets and sleepers washed, baby bedding washed (and even ironed) just awaiting a noodle bodied newborn. Freshly painted nursery walls, diapers in two sizes stacked in the changing table. Car seat installed, uninstalled and reinstalled. Just to be sure, just to be safe.But really it doesn't matter how ready you think you are. You just can't be ready. How do you prepare for your whole life to change in the blink of an eye. Literally. You blink and then you meet your newborn baby.One minute you are not a mom, the next you are. Suddenly it's like you have this huge responsibility, this wrinkled, pink, generally pissed infant needing you to do everything for them. Everything. Three years ago, you made me a mom. For that I'd like to thank you Mason.I was anything but ready for Mason. Arriving more than four weeks early, I wasn't even stocked on diapers. I surely wasn't ready for the tar-like poop you get when you first change the Pamper. I'm not quite sure I even knew how to change a diaper of a real infant. I didn't own a sleeper for a baby as small as Mason was. I'd washed plenty of cute rompers, folded and matched tons of socks, but he swam in every piece of clothing I'd bought.
I wasn't ready to feel like I was holding something so fragile I might break it. Three years later I sometimes still feel like I'm holding a fragile newborn, his face has changed, undoubtedly, yet, it's so much the same.I don't really remember the first time I held him. I remember he felt floppy like a noodle, I felt like I was going to break him, that memory is crystal clear. Within two days I felt like he was unbreakable, that was a quick adjustment. I was worried when I first met Mason that I wouldn't know how to love him. That I wouldn't know what to do. For anything. How much would he need to eat and when could I tell if he was full? Surely that'd be one of my easiest challenges. Would love come immediately? If it didn't would it never come?I worried something would be wrong. Every minute of delivery, every day in the NICU. Finally he came home and I felt love and relief and the worry was gone. Love came quick. Loving Mason came easy.The past three years have been blissful, they've been challenging, they've been fun and funny and non stop. The past three years have been hard, really, really hard. The past three years have been the best years I've had yet.
Just three years ago I first heard you cry. You came to me quickly. Right in time to finish up a Grey's Anatomy "To Be Continued...", right in time to stare at you intently for a whole night, right in time. I can't believe it's been three whole years since we first met.I never thought I'd love anyone the way I love you. But you proved me wrong. Oh. So. Wrong. It only took me 3 minutes to feel overwhelming love for you. Just three quick, short minutes to feel that way, but the three years has made it rock solid. Everyday you do something that makes me love you more. Everyday I learn something new about you. You never cease to amaze me.
Tomorrow my baby will be three. Ready or not, he's turning three. No slow motion button, no rewind, nope, not happening. But three, oh that is happening. He will blow out candles tomorrow. He will wake up and be three. (I'm waiting to celebrate until 7:05pm, because I can and hey, every minute counts).I guess three can't be bad. Not with a preschooler as awesome as you. Three is more than half your whole hand. That's pretty cool and you are pretty damn cool yourself. Let's see what three will bring. I will try my hardest not to blink this year. Because it's already been three years. Thank you for being mine.
Three years old. That was quick. Maybe too quick. But ready or not, it's here. Mason Michael, you are three years old and I barely blinked.

a long way.

mason,

this was your year. you've changed SO much from last december. first off simple things, you've gained about 8 lbs, yet still manage to wear last year's winter wardrobe. ok, a few things look a little snug, but it works. you've grown 3 inches, your now hovering barely under disneyland's minimum ride stature, c'mon baby you've only got like 80 days to grow that half inch. your hair. oh your hair is awesome, it's grown about hmm 30 feet.

last year you were an only child, with a sibling on the way. you didn't get the change that was oncoming; i don't think any of us did. you've handled your role as big brother with grace, ease and perfection. there are some days when max is forbidden to touch any toy you "own", even the toys you played with two christmases ago. i get it; they're yours. and your mine.

and you are awesome.

a lot of people contemplate ever loving someone like they love their first born. you were my first and you taught me so much about love and the insanity that comes with motherhood and through you i grew 100 feet. you humbled me on every level of my life and you made my life so much better. you fufilled a void i didn't know existed. you made me want more babies, because you were so fun, so perfect, so you.

this year brought on more fun, more perfection, the best you yet. last year year you talked, you said "no" a lot, you said "more juice" and sometimes even a nice "peas mommy" when you really wanted something. this year you communicate. i can sit with you and have a full on, two-way conversation about god knows what, trains, happy meals, why it's time for bed, how much longer those delicious cookies are going to take and of course how much i love you.

i love you more than i'll ever be able to tell you, more than i can ever show you.

i love you more than 100 kisses and 1000 hugs and 2 million bedtime stories. you're so awesome i can stare at you while you sleep and feel like i won the noble peace price or an oscar.

one of the best parts of me is you. you made me a mom, which is what i enjoy most, being a mom, to you and max.

a lot more happened this year where you kicked ass. goodbye pampers hello big boy undies. however, you've successfully protested giving your pacifier to the "binky fairy", the new baby or in exchange for one hotwheel per pacifier. ok, i give up. i've never met a highschool senior with a pacifier; but if you choose to go to prom with yours, well good for you.

you are so independent. you want to pick what shirt you wear, you need to zip and unzip and rezip you own jacket (a hundred times) and get in your own carseat, "all by meself". but one thing you still refuse to do alone is sleep. we never planned to cosleep, but it fell in our laps, and we value our sleep, crazy huh? some nights when your elbows and feet are knee deep in my ribs, i second guess my love of how cozy it is. majority of the nights your spooned beside me and you fit perfectly just like you did 34 months ago when i first held you chest to chest. it's a miracle considering you've grown rougly 34 inches, but i'm not arguing.

talking about 34 months ago; i will never forget when i first saw you. you were so tiny. so wrinkled. you had this pissed looked on your scrunched little face, sometimes i think you still make that sour little face...all this time later. i remember walking up to your plastic nicu incubator that housed you for the first eight days of your life, everyday in the third week of february, you've always been petite yet feisty as they come. i think their was more pizazz and personality in your 19 inch frame than in many grown adults. you were born awesome. but this year you grew a lot; a lot more awesome that is.

you had a good year mason. you turned two and indulged in sprinkles, but no cake. you went to the beach and caught your first fish. you bravely conquered jumping off ever rocky ledge of each swimming pool we swam at all summer. you became a brother. a fabulous, wonderful, maybe not sharing, but loving big brother. you went to school (again) tear free this time. you slide down the tallest slides. you laugh at cartoons. you sing along to roughly five songs on the radio, your voice is precious. you traveled to boston and did it like a champ. you lost the diapers and any baby face you ever had. you kept your sweet, contagious, captivating belly laugh.

i can't say it enough; everyday you grew and matured and became this little kid. the person you are becoming is someone i'm madly in love with. every endless hour with you is an adventure. this was your year, two was fabulous not terrible. two was you.

you've come a long way baby.

love,

your mama