Dear Mamie,
I will never forget that first moment when I saw you. We gazed at each other like old friends do. You didn't cry, I didn't cry. (No, we saved that for when we got home and then we both cried at 6PM on the dot every day for about a month. Remember those times?) You came out looking like you had just gone 15 rounds in the boxing ring, all bruised and red and so fucken cute that I wanted to slather kisses all over your hard working little body. The women in the nursery at NYU liked to tell me how loud you were. I used to think "that's my girl," but now I think, "Oh lord, she is really loud." Mamie, we love you, but honeybun, you are very, very loud. Our neighbors down the hall used to say things like "I heard your baby last night," which meant "your baby's screams are echoing and then bouncing off of the walls and ricocheting into our apartment sideways." You cry loud, you laugh loud, and you screech loud whenever I play peekaboo with you or you see your Daddie after not seeing him for a whole day. When you are not screaming or screeching or making raspberries at strangers on the street, you now grunt. Grunting means you want something. You have also started to use your exorcist voice at night. I think you are happy when you do this, but I can't say I am not waiting for your eyes to light up and your head to spin around. (Please don't do that.) Will you always be loud? I wonder. As Daddie says, "Maybe she will be an opera singer." Ok, be as loud as you want.
When we brought you home from the hospital we put you in your beautiful little co-sleeper right next to our bed. And guess what? You hated it. All those people that said that babies like to feel as if they are still in the womb, well, they were wrong about you, all right. Our baby, The Baby Mamie, well, she likes to spread out. So when we put you in our bed because you smelled so good and we wanted to snack on your deliciousness, you took up half of the Queen size bed. Mommie and Daddie had to scrunch together tight (which was easy because between the two of us we weigh less than one of your chunky thighs) so you could have a full half of the bed, like you needed. So out went the co-sleeper and in came a big crib. We'd put you in it all swaddled up (with an arm out because you'd always, ALWAYS, get at least an arm out) and you'd lay in the middle of it looking so happy and strange. You still like your crib and you like to stand up in it and shake it like you are a caged animal, and make a power fist with one hand. We are so proud of that power fist. You are a Rushkoff.
Mamie, when the other kids at school ask you if you were breastfed (and they will because we live in Park Slope, Brooklyn, breastfeeding capital of the east coast), tell them "yes, for six weeks my Mommie gave me her boobs and I drank until I choked and then discovered formula which CHANGED MY LIFE." Then refer all questions to me. You are your parents' daughter, which means you are allergic to parts of milk, namely the proteins which did very bad things to your poopie and generally made you feel pretty lousy. Both Daddie and I are allergic to many things - dust and too much sugar and avocados and noisy upstairs neighbors and we are so sorry that we made you allergic to dairy products. But we will try to get you over that and if we can't ,know that vanilla rice milk is yummy and that Mommie will become the best vegan cook in the world, one that will scour the local markets for rice cheese to make you the most beautiful pizza in the world. You will have pizza, Mamie. Yes you will.
Sweet baby, before you came into our lives Daddie and I used to sleep a lot. And watch TV a lot. And go out to dinner a lot. And see movies. And stay up late, like until 11:00. Now, the only TV we seem to watch is Noggin, we eat takeout at home, and the last movie we saw was 1 minute of something that we Tivo'd (and it was Auntie Mame!). But we're not complaining because this is what we do now. We do you. And we love it. You have started to sleep through the night now more consistently, but can I tell you a secret? You know when you would wake up in the middle of the night because you were hungry or thirsty or just wanted a little company? Well, I was always glad to see you. Yes, I was tired, but I was always glad to see your little face. It is a nice little face and it gave me the opportunity to chew on your cheeks just a little bit more. And we won't even talk about the tuchis on you. But know this, Mommie kisses that tuchis a lot. I do that because one day I will never ever be allowed to do that again so I have to get my kisses in now. You don't seem to mind, but maybe when you are 14, you might.
We are so proud of you, little one. Proud of you for doing baby things like rolling over and crawling and standing and saying things like da da da ma ma ma ba ba ba ga ga ga and now, la la la. You seem to understand what we are saying and yes, we should have stuck to teaching you baby sign language but funk that. We know what you want (more food!) These are some of the things you like:
1. Peaches. Oh my God. You love peaches. If you won't eat anything and then we put peach on it, then you will eat it. Thank you Lord for peaches.
2. Textiles. You are a tactile little thing. You like bumpy material, metal and plastic. You think trash bags are wonderful and tasty. You think Mommie's fuzzy socks are the shit and embroidered things rule your world. When Auntie Gisela came from London to see you, you just about dropped your jaw when you felt her beaded bracelet. "This one is going to be into accessories," she said.
3. Staring. Mamie, you like to look at things. Hard. You like to stare at people and then scream until they look back at you. Sometimes people say things to me like "Ooh, she must be in a bad mood" and I like to say back "No, she just doesn't like you," but I don't. I just laugh and know that you are sizing up this person and haven't decided on them yet. Good. Keep doing that.
4. Music. Oh my, Mamie, how you love the music. You like to watch music videos (yes, we have hooked you on TV already), you like to watch Daddie play the guitar and oh, how you like the dancehall. Ever since you were a little tiny baby, you liked the dancehall music. You like trip hop too, which is nice to drive to when we want to keep you asleep in the carseat contraption that you hate so much. You also like the Music For Aardvarks guy a lot. A whole lot. Like, too much. Mamie, can I play you some Beatles?
5. Chicken. The only thing better than chicken is chicken covered in peaches. Thank you again lord for chicken covered in peaches.
You also like, little kids, crawling to the bathroom nude at the end of the night for your lavender bath, eating carpet fuzz, clapping your hands to your own beat, men, going pantless, Boohbah, "dancing," the Chinese mask we have in the living room (that we named Trang just for you), taking the phone and banging it on the Herman Miller table that used to be worth something, hair, reading books upside down, being held by Daddie because Daddie will hold you all day if you want to, pretending that I gave you poison when I feed you a food that you don't like, and so much more. You don't like peas, wearing winter clothes, being contained in any way be it stroller, high chair or carseat, loud rock music (but that will change, dear one), smelly old ladies who want to pinch your cheeks (me neither), sun in your eyes (it makes you sneeze), and not so much else.
I could write pages and pages about you. About how good you smell, about how you look so grown up when you use your walker and take drunken little steps, about how when you see me after a nap your whole face lights up (which makes me melt every single time), about how happy I am to be out strolling with you (I am sorry for dressing us in the same top this past summer though, Mamie. That will never happen again, I promise.) When I was pregnant and feeling sick a lot, your Daddie used to tell me to hang in there and think about how this will be the best thing I ever did. I used to glare at Daddie hard when he said that and retort something back using words like endless nausea, uterus the size of a volleyball and pressure in the vagina (that one always got him.) Daddie would get quiet and leave the room and I would sit and talk to my belly for awhile saying how it will all be ok. My belly being you, Mamie. And you know what the funny part is? The funny part is that Daddie was totally right.
So today is your birthday and yes, it is your day and we shall do many fun things like go to a restaurant and tear open presents and eat peaches to our hearts content. But it also my birthday too. My birth day. Birthdays aren't just about presents -- (and I promise Mamie that if your birthday falls on Hanukkah you will indeed get two separate presents. I promise not to combine.) it's about remembering your birth. On this day at 6:02 I believe I will always remember that incredible moment.
I am so happy you are here, Mamie. Happy birthday to both of us.