Dear Noah - Week 18

Dear Noah,

You turned 18 weeks old on Saturday. It's taken me this long to write to you because, in all honesty, I've been a shitty mother. And when I'm shitty at something, I hate it - this isn't to say that I've hated you - I've just hated being a mom.

It's not easy being a mom (not that anyone told me it was), it's just a lot harder than I thought it would be. I thought I was more patient, giving and selfless, but I realized that those were things I had to learn along the way.

I am happy to say that I am at peace with being a mom, your mom.

However, I'm no expert; I screw up daily. Like when I want to toss you in the snowbank or scold you rather harshly for screaming in my face, but slowly (sometimes at a snail's pace) the words, "it's so worth it" are beginning to ring true.

The joy you bring me on a daily basis outweigh your tantrums, which, really, is the only grief you cause me.

So with this momentarily happy moment in mind - because they are, at times, fleeting - I wanted to write to you.

Maybe not weekly, but at least monthly. Somehow I figure even if you - or anyone else - don't find any of my ramblings, or stories about your infancy and my inner turmoil interesting, it will comfort me in remembering them when you're all grown up

This week you've been nothing short of spectacular to me. You're changing, growing leaps and bounds - smiling, laughing, rolling, "talking", almost sitting on your own and eating homemade oatmeal cereal - you amaze me.

My favourite time to spend with you is bedtime and your nighttime feeding. Not only because I get a quiet snuggle - you're quite the chatty wiggly worm - but because it's the only time that your still my little baby. I feel at times as if you're literally growing into a boy before my very eyes.

It's during those moments that I hold you as close as I possibly can to my chest and kiss your tiny, fuzzy head over and over and over. I whisper the song that never fails to make you smile: "Let it Snow" and tell you I love you. I've spent many a night in that rocking chair, sobbing with the love that just pours out of me, especially when you sigh so contentedly as I'm kissing you, nuzzling your forehead with mine.

It's then that I feel, despite my own shortcomings and faults, I must be doing something right, because it seems as if you love me too, in your own way.

Love,

Mommy

xo