Dear Jacob,
It happens Every. Single. Night. I will be elbow deep in dinner preparations with the stove top sizzling, the cabinet strewn with ingredients, my apron covered in food and you start wailing at the top of your lungs. Do I run to you or do I try and finish cooking and see if you will soothe yourself? The oven timer goes off and your wail hits an octave that makes me truly wonder how it is produced from such a tiny body. My mind wonders, did you squirm into the corner of the crib again and have your leg half hanging out like last night? Food or baby, baby or food? You haven't taken a breath since the last wail . . . I am positive you are wrapped up in your blankets in a dangerous way by the sound of your cries. I quickly dust off, rinse my hands, pull out the food and run up the stairs.I am 3 stairs from the top and you stop crying. I decide to check on you anyway: You are there, middle of the crib, blankets still neatly wrapped around you. Then you smile the biggest smile, Seriously?! It's a good thing you are so stinking cute.
Love,
Mommy
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