Dear Parks,

You will turn three-months=old next week and in some ways I just can't believe I've only known you for that short amount of time. It has seemed like a lifetime and possibly a few thousand years before that. I love you so much. In the past month you've become this horribly interesting creature that coos and grins and interacts and demands. You are so cool. I want to tell people this all day long and then part of the next day but I stop myself. I stop myself a lot because I don't want to be "that person". I don't want to be that mom so unabashedly in love with their child that they can do nothing but talk about her. But, on here, I can.

Have we talked about how cool you are? You are. I want to wear a t-shirt with your name on it and go to a bar and watch you. That's how cool you are. This month you learned how to squeal. How cool is THAT, right? One day you couldn't squeal, the next day you could. It was crazy. Crazy cool.

You've starting sleeping ten hours a night pretty regularly and I can't say that hasn't effected the level of my affection towards you. I'm just being honest here. Its pretty easy to fall in love with your child when you have post-delivery oxytocin flowing through your veins, nine full hours of sleep evey night, and millions of years of biological urges on your side. In short, you totally make me swoon.

One of my friends asked me last night, "Does it feel weird thinking about the fact that your her mother?" and I told her that I really didn't think about it. I don't. If I sat in a room full of mothers and someone walked through the door and asked for the mom of "Parks Garrott", it might take me a full five minutes before I realized they were talking about me. Because, when I truly think about my relationship to you, I more think of you as this extremely unbelievable person that I was lucky enough to be picked to take care of. Mother doesn't seem to fit that. And right now, I can't seem to think of a word that does.

"Bitchin'", maybe?

Love,
Mama