Category Archives: To Evelyn

Four Months

My Little Love, 

Someone asked me yesterday if I wished I had waited to have you. I will never wish that. Why would I wish to have waited for this sense of distinction in my life? You have given my life more meaning, you make my life more fulfilling, and you give me more happiness than anything else ever can or will. Your father and I love you more than you could possibly know, and you won’t know or understand just how much until you have a child of your own, it’s a love that can only be understood by a parent.



I spent nine months counting down the days until you came, and I was both ready and totally unprepared at the same time. I don’t think anyone is ever really prepared for how much they can love; I never knew I had the capacity to love anything so intensely or so achingly.  It’s the most profound kind of love, the kind that instantly makes you a better person. How can I afford the luxury of selfishness when this tiny, adorable little person is depending on me? You have made me a real live grown up, and you have given me whole arsenal of insight and common sense that can only come from being a responsible parent.

I think always have a portion of my brain dedicated to the thought of where you are and what you’re doing, and the constant hope that you are happy and doing well will be embedded within me forever. You are my motivation, inspiration, my therapy, and my own personal narcotic; anytime I have a thought laced with Evelyn I feel a surge of happiness. I can’t thank you enough for the dimension that being your mother has added to my life. 



Always remember, I love you. I love every bit of you from the ends of your wild hair to the tips of your dainty little feet. I love you even when I’m changing a particularly messy diaper, even when you’re giving me that warning that you’re about to cry, that warning in the form of protruding lower lip, and especially when you wake up from your nap and smile at me making me giggle, because it’s just so great that you can giggle back at me.






Two Months

Dear Social Butterfly,

You were born two months ago today. I honestly cannot believe it’s been two months. This is strange because it feels like it was only just the other day that you made your first appearance. I feel this way because the memory of being paralyzed with emotion when you were plopped on my chest is so vivid in my mind as I write this. All the memories proceeding that exact moment feel like a lifetime ago. It’s as if I was pregnant years ago but just had you moments ago. Strange, I know. I can only hope you will have similar experiences, experiences that change not only your life, but who you are and therefore what you make of that life. Those experiences are the kind that make life worth living.


This month has been marked by the amazing way you’ve developed socially. Ever since you learned to smile at people (not just when you fell asleep or passed gas), you’ve been quite social with anyone you come in close contact with. You and I have already carried on extensive conversations about the weather, the crumbling economy, and what holiday movies we’re looking forward to the most, among other topics. Not only do you smile at me, you make various expressions and have several different grunts, coos, gurgles and murmurs that tell me you aren’t particularly favoring this seasons early cold streak, you have high hopes that the bill for another stimulus check will give the economy the boost it needs, and The Curious Case of Benjamin Button looks amazing, but The Spirit looks to be a dud.

We usually carry on several of these conversations before your father gets home from work, at which point you give him your playoff picks and opinion on which Heisman winner will win the BCS title game. You also have discussions with your cousin Elijah when he comes over, but I can only make out half of what he’s discussing with you, you two usually use your own baby language.


You aren’t particularly shy with any of the family or friends that hold you either, though I do think you’re more reserved about your opinions with those you don’t know well, judging by the fact that those conversations are a lot shorter.

You even exchanged words with that terrible doctor just before he poked and prodded you mercilessly. After that you were so angry with him you only gave him your Tomato Red Cry, something you kept up until the second he left the room. Your first breakup of sorts. Don’t worry though; he wasn’t your regular pediatrician so there isn’t likely to be any awkward post-breakup conversations with him in the future. I should warn you though, some men will mistake you’re friendliness flirting and judging by the conversation your father had with you the other day, you’re not going to be allowed to date until after graduate school. 



One Month

Dear Daddy’s Twin,

Today you are officially one month old. For the past thirty one days our friends and family members have been coming and going to see you and all of their visits can be summarized by the following three comments:

“She looks just like Jay!”

 “Look at that HAIR!”

Yes, Evelyn, you do indeed look like your daddy, so much so that after they laid you on my chest when you were born, the first coherent sentence I could muster was, “You look just like your daddy,” so much so that one nurse called it scary and weird and amazing all in one sentence, so much so that the nurse combed your amazing mop of hair into the same style as your dad’s and ever since your hair will not stop sticking up. If in the future you want to curse your horrible sticky-uppy hair, curse instead that horrible upward-combing nurse. She simply could not get over how much you looked like your dad and how much hair you had. In fact, all of the nurses you encountered as well as our midwife, doctor, pediatrician, the terrible photographer that took your hospital picture, and lady who took mommy’s hospital food orders commented on how much hair you have. French Toast or Ham and Cheddar Omelet or hair! Your baby has so much HAIR!

Just last week we took you to a family barbecue. I was excited to show you off to the family members who hadn’t already seen you, and for you to meet them so you could show them your newfound ability to smile at anyone who talks to you and therefore melt the hearts of everyone around. You fell asleep in the car, and of course, to my disappointment, you didn’t wake up the entire time we were there. You wake up if you even sense your father and I are ABOUT to sit down with you in our arms, but you can sleep through twenty-five grown men yelling at football players that can’t hear them on a blaring big screen television. At least when we brought you to your godfather’s house the day before you demonstrated your miraculous ability.

So far, this is the consensus on the breakdown of your DNA:

Everything above your mouth: from daddy

Lips and chin: from mommy

Hands and feet: from mommy

So, basically, if you decided to spend your days dressed in a batman mask, you’re look exactly like me, otherwise you’re the female version of your dad. Judging by the way you can work a room, even in your sleep I think you got your social magnetism from your dad too. Everyone who meets you is attracted to you instantly, how could they not be? 

Remember, you father and I love you more than you could ever know, from the tips of your wild hair to the toes on your dainty little feet.