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Dear Noah,

If you or your brother have any interest whatsoever in who your parents were when you were babies then you are likely actually reading these letters and posts. You are also probably noticing a few things. 1. I wrote ALOT about your brother while he was in my belly and once he was here. 2. I clearly don’t love you as much because I rarely post anything about you….and at this point you’ve been here for 3 whole months! Here’s the thing: #2 couldn’t be further from the truth. The real truth is that life was slower and much easier before we were juggling both of you. That’s just the reality of two under two. I’m sure there are mothers out there who have and will do it better than me. They probably have their baby books filled out each month. I just finished filling out the first page…. I’m functioning on just four hours of sleep a night and working full-time. And by the time I get home, get you both fed and bathed, and get your brother wore out enough to crash, it is 8:30. And then I exercise for a half hour, feed you again, and it’s 10. And the only thing I want to do by then is sit quietly on the couch and cuddle you, stroke your sweet baby cheeks and soak it ALL in.

You are special to me in all sorts of different ways from your brother. You are the best surprise I have and will ever have. I had accepted after your brother was born that we might not have any more children. It just wasn’t in the cards for us. Finding out you were happening was one of the most beautiful blessings of my life. When a blessing of that magnitude happens to you, it shakes you and wakes you up.

You, my sweet boy, have rounded out our family’s love story. Three months in and we are all so madly in love with you.

Just this morning we had laid you in the crib while we were getting ready for work. You still live in our room so your room is a hub of your furniture, our ironing board, miscellaneous toys of your brother’s and clothes of mine. Your father was ironing, and I was putting on makeup, and your brother was demanding we put him in the crib with you. He was hanging on the rails and exclaiming, “Help. Help. Help. Up. Up. Up.” I lifted him into your crib and he laid beside you, grabbed your hand, and started to sing, “Row, row your boat…” I’m fairly certain your father and I both melted a little while watching this family we have created exist in this perfect moment. I’m sure a few minutes later one or both of you were crying, and we were scrambling to get out the door with our sanity. But, in that moment, I saw how lucky and fortunate we are to have one another.

These days you are still mostly just sleeping and eating, but in between you give us the most contagious smiles and giggles. I live for those.

I love you.