Dear M,
I wanted to write you a letter each month - a way of immortalising all the little moments and events that fill each day but are in danger of being lost or forgotten with the business of life, the passage of time, and my ever-worsening memory. However, your first month has come and gone, and for various reasons I never had the time to document a single word - although, they have been swimming in my head since, and now that things have calmed down a bit, I finally have time to write.
You are five and a half weeks old. You have spent about three of those weeks in hospital, which is about two and half more than I would have wished for the start of your life, but sometimes these things can't be helped. One thing you've taught me is optimism (and that's no small feat for your glass-half-empty mother!). Since you came along, I've learned to see the positive in things, and not to dwell too long on the negative. The fact that you, my bright light, exist makes it easy to do. The past month has not been smooth sailing though, and at times I realise that it's all been a lot more stressful and emotional than I really allowed myself to acknowledge at the time. I can't look at photos of you in intensive care without crying.
For all the unforeseen turmoil, there has been unbelievable joy - the highlight for me was just the other night, when you smiled for the first time. Given that your first smile managed to completely overshadow another milestone (the first time you slept through the night), I think you can understand how much it means to me to interact with you, to see you grow and develop as a new little person in this world. You have your own personality that has already emerged in full force - you are strong, stubborn, gregarious (always turning on the charm for company, so no one believes us when we say that you've spent the past hours screaming), alert, assertive. You love music and being waltzed in my arms. Other things you love include: bath time, car rides, walks in the pram, being outside, being around people, having your head stroked as you sleep. You have been breastfed in public and together with your dad, we've been out as far as Bronte and Marrickville, which for a newborn is pretty adventurous.
Inevitably, there are moments in every day when I feel utterly exhausted and depleted - these moments usually occur at 4am and/or after you've been unsettled and crying for long periods. But the happiness I feel with you here seems to cut through that in a way I hadn't anticipated and could never really have imagined before. I can't wait for the coming days, weeks, months, years with you.
Love,
Mum
