Chunky Viking: A love letter to my son

I knew even then that there had to be a way, I just couldn't fathom how. I was in the last month of my second pregnancy, trying, as every parent tries, to prepare for life with two kids. (In case you haven't been there before, this is a futile mission. There is no preparing for such a thing. Everyone says this, and yet we try anyway. For my own part, I attribute this to a grasping for what's left of the control I once felt over my life.) We had the sleeping arrangements squared away, the infant carseat installed, and a stack of wee boy clothes ready to go. I couldn't shake a feeling of irrational guilt, though. Somehow, I felt I was doing Eden, my firstborn babe, a great disservice by spoiling her mama/daddy time... taking away from her much of the attention she was accustomed to and throwing some weird, unknown kid into the mix. "How can I possibly love another child as much as I love Eden?" I'd been purposely soaking up every moment with my daughter that I could, for her sake and to salve my own guilt, and was particularly sweet on her the morning I asked my mom, a mother of four, about what felt like a very real concern. With a mock-defeatist look she sighed and said, "Well, you don't." Okay, okay, so I saw how silly the worry was, but I still could not wrap my brain around it. I still didn't have an answer.

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You are 12 weeks old today. You've successfully skipped the 2AM feeding for over two weeks now, a skill we've been anxious for you to master, and your developing digestive system allows you much more comfort than you had the first several weeks of your life. For these things we are thankful, but even without them, the undeniable, core-of-my-being, absolute truth is this: I love you. I can't get enough of you, Judah! You are so laid back, carefully observing everything around you with wide blue eyes. (Any subject of interest is first skeptically considered with a serious furrow of your still-downy brow, followed, usually, by a pudgy smirk.) I can't remember using the term before, but I have no other vocab word to say it... you're an old soul. We often feel like you're an adult trapped in an infant's body, aching to move around and get to your business. (Your motivation to move makes me relish even more these days of sweet baby cuddling, when you can't escape my mad momma kisses and you have no choice but to put up with me.) With the same sincerity in which I asked myself how I could possibly love another child, I now wonder how I felt complete without you. I can not remember what life looked like before you became part of my daily reality. There's a scene in How the Grinch Stole Christmas that keeps coming to mind, when the Grinch's heart grows more than the two sizes of its deficiency to burst out of its perceived parameters. You have grown my heart, Judah Buddha Barracuda. You're my favorite boy.