october 2011

To My Cal:


Well gosh, it looks like I may be consistently 2 weeks late on my monthly letters to you. I know what you're thinking, "Pull yourself together mom!" I'm trying, son. I'm what those in 2011 might call a hot mess. You wanna know why? Because I could not be more enamored with you and your brother. I put off many, many, many things to spend quality time with you boys. Real, quality, present, focused time with you is what makes me feel the most rewarded at the end of the day and I guard my right to that time above all else. But, enough about me, let's get onto the good stuff.


Fourteen pounds. That's right Callum, you have doubled your birth weight in a mere 2 months. Fourteen pounds is delicious, I tell you what. I would know as I have sampled just about every last ounce of them. The most common comment I get when we're out and people gaze upon your magnitude is "You must kiss those cheeks all day long! As you may have guessed by the tardiness of your second month letter, those commenters are correct. Your cheeks are creating a monopoly on your face, your other facial features are closing up shop, there's simply not room for them anymore. 


As previously, stated you are such a happy, light-hearted babe. You are taken by light and watch it wherever it goes. What a sweet angel you are, the spirit you bring to our home is indescribable. Even when no one is holding you, you're smiling. When someone is holding you, it doesn't take much to get a full blown ear to ear, double dimple, double chin grin and coo out of you. You love to talk to us and stretch your mouth open wide like you're trying to laugh. You know who makes you smile the most? Your brother Hayes. You're starting to really dig Hayes, as you should, cause he's awesome.



Another nickname you've picked up this month is The World's Most Professional Night Owl. Good grief you stay up late! A typical night for you stretches until 11 pm, but you've seen this side of 2 am a few times as well. I think you're just smart. You know Hayes goes to bed at 8:30 and the longer you act fiercely cute and warm and cuddly, the longer time you get with your mom and dad. I've grown to like the late nights because I get that quality time with you that I crave throughout the day, but can't seem to get. Good news is you sleep 12 hours waking up only twice to eat, so Hayes and I get a few hours in the morning to spend together too.


Today, you and I had a scary afternoon which made me feel incredibly urgent about getting this letter to you. As I drove you and I home from an appointment on a fast and busy road, the car ahead of me seemed a football field's length away. He decided to turn right, but didn't move out of the lane to the shoulder, and didn't have his turn signal on. I was admittedly distracted, and looked up only to realize he was almost to a complete stop before making his turn. I swerved quickly, but hit his left side. My swerve caused a car in the next lane over to hit us from the back.  That ricocheted us to the far left lane where we were hit yet again. With each 50 mile an hour hit, I held my breath, wanting it all to stop so I could hold you. Finally, our car stopped in the median. The deafeningly loud and unmistakable sounds of cars crunching cars finally ceased and I could hear your cry. Tears streamed my face as I shakily unbuckled you, bringing your face under my chin. You fell asleep within seconds. Gratefully, everyone involved, especially you, was okay. So much damage was done to four cars, the others driven by a woman, a young couple with a baby, and elderly man, and unfortunately & maybe a little unfairly, it was my fault. 


You know what's so great about you, Cal? The drivers, the paramedics, the cops, the backed up traffic for miles (North bound on State Street from 1600 North all the way to University Parkway.) No one could be mad when they saw you in my arms. I had a few real tough looking paramedics hanging out with me in a unoccupied ambulance taking turns holding you. As for me, I could have cared less about our probably totaled car, about the tens of thousands of dollars in damage, the spike in our insurance, the sore neck. You were safe in my arms, sound asleep. I cherish you that much Callum. Wrap up all that commotion and circumstance and inconvenience and fear and it doesn't begin to take up the space in the universe that is reserved for how much I love you. Isn't that something?!


The world is yours, Cal.
Love, Mom.