Parks Elizabeth Garrott: 6/16/09

Just because Mama is lazy it took her six whole weeks to get pictures of you on here. This is in no way a reflection of how absolutely beautiful you are. We aren't trying to hide you because you look funny...you know, like Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes did with their adopted Asian baby Suri. One day I'll tell you all about them-and this weird white guy named Michael Jackson. He died when you were four days old. One day mom will play "Thriller" for you and do the dance that goes along with it. Preferably when you are twenty-five, going on your FIRST DATE, and there is a guy at the house that wants to see you naked. Hopefully this will have the desired effect of making him rethink his choices. Your father is also purchasing a shotgun for this occasion which he will be cleaning on the couch NAKED-save a do-rag and a belt holding a bowie knife.

This is you when you were two days old.



This is you when you found out we couldn't put you back in.






These are your feet. You can blame your father for these gargantuan things. Don't worry, mama will help you find shoes later that make them look somewhat smaller and less flipper like. Mama is good at this. I'm still amazed by how the toes on your right foot curl exactly like your fathers. The added bonus of these being that you will never have to actually bend down to pick up anything...your toes can handle the job.




This is mama in labor with you. Its after they gave me drugs. I know this because I'm not screaming, crying, throwing things at your father, or on my knees begging the nurse for heroin-all of these things actually happened. That's your Nana at the end of the bed looking amazingly NON-FLUSTERED.



This is you with Nana. She teaching you to pick your nose. And, no, there was nothing wrong with the filter on the camera...you're yellow. You were a little jaundice and for three whole days we called you "Our Little Asian Baby".



This is you right now in bed with me. In the words of your Nana, "JESUS CHRIST, YOU'RE BEAUTIFUL!" (And see, your color returned quite nicely)

Dear Parks,

You are currently asleep beside me on the bed-on your STOMACH (gasp!). Your Nana placed you that way this morning when you were fussy and fidgety. Once she rolled you over, you immediately let out a huge BURP and fell fast asleep. Sometimes Nanas know more than the Academy of Pediatrics-I promise. Especially your Nana.

You will quickly learn-once you have a rudimentary understanding of english-that your Nana pretty much knows everything. You will also be told over and over again about the one time in my entire life I have ever seen your Nana flustered. I haven't managed to do it in my thirty two years of living but-somehow-at only six-weeks-old you've mastered the art. I knew there was a reason I loved you so much.

It was yesterday and you were very loudly screaming-as you are wont to do. She was running back and forth frantically asking me what you needed, what I needed, what anyone needed in order to stop that loud screeching. She kept asking me, "What does that cry mean?" (as everyone knows that all baby cries actually have a meaning). I very calmly informed your Nana that scream meant, "I'm pissed as hell, bitch" and went about my business. Nana was not pleased.

I'm pretty sure your Nana wanted an organizational chart created and some sort of focus group formed outlining exactly how to deal with that scream.(If there was an application on her IPhone that might help-all the better). And, if all that failed, she would probably get you to sign a behavior contract assuring her that you would never scream that scream again if you were-perchance-actually forced to scream again at some point before your 21st birthday at which point all aforementioned screams would become your own business and handled under your own volition. This course of action is only valid unless said screams are-at some point-caused by someone of the male persuasion at which point they fall under the jurisdiction of your father and his previously mentioned shotgun.

There are definitely times when I am happy that Nana doesn't live with me and your Dad. Nana might lose her shit. Because, see, sometimes when you scream like that...your dad and I laugh. There's probably not a way I can explain it to you that will make you think that we are in any way suited to raise you except that sometimes-when something you love more than life itself is in pain-a pain that you don't know how to stop...Well, we have to laugh or we'd just start screaming with you.

You turned six-weeks-old yesterday and I'm still amazed at how it seems I've known you forever but at the same time hardly know anything about you. Like, do you like corn dogs...or coconut-flavored candy? I HATE banana-flavored things. Grape is my favorite. Your Daddy likes pretty much anything formed with flavored and processed sugar. We both have an unnatural affinity for bacon. When you were inside me you loved it when I ate peanut butter and chocolate-not separately-but together. I wonder if you will love it that much now that you are here. All I know is that I can't wait to get to watch you figure all these things out.

I can't imagine what I would be doing today if it wasn't watching you sleep and wiping your ass. Your father is currently in Denver for three days. I've counted and that's a full 24 hours of sleep he is getting-ALL IN A ROW. He better have bought me jewelry...or a nanny...while he was gone. I can't wait to tell him that you almost rolled over this morning. Or, that yesterday you actually laughed and smiled at the same time. This morning alone you've done about twelve hundred cool ass things that I know it breaks his heart to miss. But, I want you to know that he calls at least six times a day just to hear about every poot, cry, sigh, and pee-pee diaper because he misses you so much.

Overall, kid, minus that time I hugged Morgan Freeman, you're about the coolest thing I've ever done.

Love,
Mama