Dear Eva: Letter One.

This is my first letter to you! We’ve been together 13 weeks now + 36 weeks in my belly. When we’re in the same room — you’re in my arms. If you hear my voice, you cry to get closer, and if I try to gently and peacefully transfer you to Daddy’s arms while you sleep you open one eye and look at me with confusion, sadness and betrayal. Daddy jokes you’re obsessed with me. I have to admit that my heart feels so full in these moments. I don’t want to give you up. I don’t want to share you. And I think I’m equally as obsessed with you.

I think the fact that you’re my third baby helps me. Your brother was the trial-and-error 4th trimester. The one where I was in shock for three months. I didn’t understand my emotions. I didn’t, yet, know how to mother or to run a household. I couldn’t balance the mess, the laundry, the feeding, the bottle washing, the no-sleep all-night wakings, or the feelings of wanting to be out and about but the struggle of leaving the house while having a baby who could cry at any moment — and then what would I do if I couldn’t soothe him?

Your sister’s 4th trimester was different. I had learned a bit about myself, motherhood and being a family unit two years prior. So this time was focused solely on how to double my hands, be in two places at once and unfortunately comparison (ah! what a thief!). It was about learning how to give each child what they needed, when they needed it. And accepting that sometimes I’d make the wrong move, or give attention where attention wasn’t necessary or miss something because I didn’t have eyes and ears everywhere. It was a whirlwind of tears, frustration and guilt. For all involved.

But you. Yours has been the easiest 4th trimester. Perhaps because you gave me such a hard time when I was pregnant or because things around us are so chaotic that our time together IS my necessary calm. But, we snuggle close, all day and night long. I’ve fully embraced the idea that I can’t hold you enough and now (only now) truly understand that you won’t always be this small. I’ve watched your siblings grow and I now know that soon — no matter how many pictures I take or how detailed I write down stories, milestones, and anecdotes of your life — the feelings attached to each time period of life together will fade. And all I will have are the facts associated with dates on a calendar: first dr. visit, first smile, first Christmas and so on. I’ll read these entries and sort of smile — but the butterflies in my stomach — the ones I have right now as I’m typing one-handedly while you’re laying across my chest, breathing into my neck and grasping onto my shirt — those butterflies will be gone. Time goes and goes and takes the magic with it.

So Miss Eva — you are complete magic to me. You’ve taught me I’m capable, you’ve stretched my thinking, have given me confidence in my care taking abilities and proven that I am in fact a multitasker: I’ve mastered food prep, eating, drinking, reading books, typing, laundry, holding a toddler, using the bathroom, building with play-doh, teeth brushing, putting on shoes, coloring a picture, opening a can of cat food, plant watering, painting my nails, and doing the dishes — all with you in my arms. Honestly — I don’t want to put you down because I know just how quickly you’ll learn to run.

Love, Mama