To My Precious Fourth Child

Dear Theodore,

Today, just a week or so shy of you turning three months, something clicked for you with sleeping.  Until this point, to go to sleep we would rock, bounce, nurse (me more than your dad), pat, whatever it took for you to go to sleep.  You'd fall asleep in our arms somehow, or in a chest nap, and then we'd transfer you to a swing or rock n play or something when you were really really out.  Attempt the transfer too soon, when you're not REALLY out, and it would re-set the whole process.

But today, you weren't settling when I was bouncing you.  You weren't interested in nursing.  You were just getting more irritated.  So I swaddled you, laid you down in your crib, and left the room to go help the twins.  You didn't make a peep.  After 10 minutes I went in to check, and you were completely asleep.  It was like you'd just wanted to be left alone to go to sleep.

I thought it might be a fluke, but tried again for your afternoon nap.  Sure enough, you did the same thing again.  And then again for bed time tonight.  Just completely out with no fussing at all.

On one hand, I have been SO ready for this moment.  When some time opens up in the evenings to feel a little human again. When I don't have to spend at least 15 minutes getting you down for a nap.  When you'd be ready to fall asleep on your own.

And yet...

I am so not ready for this moment.

You are the last baby we're planning on having. When Emily was born, I was so thrown off by the identity shift of being a mom, and the disorienting exhaustion of having a newborn.  I wanted so badly to have a semblance of my old life back.  And when it's your first baby, and you're planning on having more babies, you don't really grasp the precious fleeting nature of those newborn days.  When the twins were born, we were in complete survival mode.  I cherished the snuggles as much as I could.  But also cherished any second I could sleep.  Because from about 20 weeks of pregnancy until those boys were over 9 months ol\d, I didn't get more than 4 hours of consecutive sleep.

So as best we could, we've tried to embrace your newborn-ness.  Relishing the snuggles and chest naps.  I haven't minded when you'd want to nurse becuase it meant that I mostly got to sit still, even watch a few shows, and retreat from the chaos that echos around the rest of the house. 

And now that you're probably moving into a new pattern of sleeping, I know our time with a newborn is most likely over.  I feel relief and excitement to return to a manageable, sane pace of life.  But also very, very sad.

Today there was a full solar eclipse in North America and everyone went nuts for it.  The experience was definitely really cool, but what made it amazing is the fact that it only happens once a century.  So people were going bonkers to experience three minutes of something that they will most likely never experience again.  Our whole family drove 40 minutes to Elmhurst so that your dad could wait in line out side of a random toy store that was scheduled to get a delivery of eclipse glasses on saturday.  We didn't get any (and now that you hopefully know your dad a little better, you can see how out of character it is for him).  Today I took you and Emily to the library and waited in line with at least 600 other people (no exaggeration) to get a pari of glasses.  Just so we would be able to experience this once in a life time phenomenon.   It strikes me that every phase of parenting is it's own solar eclipse.  A unique and sacred time in your lives that will never happen again.

There are many things you don't get as a fourth child (lots of one on one attention, most mile stones documented, new things, your well child doctors appointments scheduled on time, etc.).  But there are many things you do get such as the smothering affecion of your siblings.  And perhaps most significantly: parents that know we're living through a solar eclipse.  And no matter how inconvenient, exasperating, or exhausting the particular phase of life you are in is, we want to soak in every second of it that we can.

We love you, Teddy.  And even though as I type this, I miss you sleeping on my chest while I watch Parks and Recreation, I can not wait to see the man you become.

Love always, Mom