Dear baby girl,
by the time you read this, you will not be a baby. By the time you can read and are aware of your prominent role in my blog, you will probably be much, much older. You will be embarrassed by some of my comments, including discussion of your butt hole. But someday you will get over your embarrassment, I hope, and know that I do it because I love you.
In the meantime, you are my baby. My 5 month old baby. It is amazing that nothing about time has in fact changed since you were born, but I swear to god it operates differently now. It is faster, sweeter and meaner. I'm not sure if it is just for this year, but the winter doesn't depress me like it used to. Maybe because it doesn't seem to phase you. You wake up every day happy. Happy to see me. Happy to see Dad. Happy to be part of the world. If winter doesn't get you down, why on earth would I let it get me down?
I know that you are, in fact, still very young. Still a baby. But it doesn't feel that way. It feels like you are so old that tomorrow I will be shipping you off to college. Motherhood is really just a time warp, and I wish there was a way to make it slow down. But as generations of parents have lamented, there is not. There is just each day, and as many pictures as I can cram into it. As much love as I can cram into you (that sounds like a bad thing, but I swear it's a good thing.)
So if someday you are embarrassed by me, by things I have said about you, please just know that it is my way of holding on to each day. Kurt Vonnegut may have been right, and this may be my only means to stay hinged in time.