Letters to Hootoo - Your Kiss Is On My List

You've learned all about smooches. Smooching Mama, really. You get serious, open your mouth wide, tongue out, and slowly move your face toward mine. Your kisses are wet, and sloppy -- but I love it. I can prompt your smooches now with just one sound. You have yet to smooch your Dad. I get it. Dude stuff.

This morning you zeroed in on Dad. We thought it was going to happen. You went in for a big one, and instead quickly whipped your head around to his ear, grabbed a patch of hair and yelled, "a-HA!" Sneaky sneak. We both died from laughter. Yo Mama xo

Letters to Hootoo - Out with the Old

Hey, baby. You've learned a bunch of new tricks so I thought I'd write them down to mark the times.

You've upped your crawling technique. Butt in the air and all.
FaceTiming with Amma and Afi is a new fun thing. You become entranced with Afi's "One, two ... THREEEEEE" finger shaking on the screen, and improvised sing songs.
You babble a lot. No real identifiable words, but you're talking non-stop.
You have two matching bottom teeth.
Those two matching bottom teeth help you eat some of your favourite foods: pears, apples, sweet potato, blueberries, avocado, and, you know, CURRIED TEMPEH. You eat them as they come. I'm amazed at your coordination and ability to feed yourself. You've come so far in such a short amount of time.
You dig Yo Gabba Gabba, but Elmo is still number one in your books.
You giggle uncontrollably at wagging tails, the sound of vomit, and when Dad eats up your neck and armpit. It's all on video for future leverage.

I love you, Hootoo. You're a joy to be around and your happy little self lights up my life, and the lives of those around you.

Yo Mama
xo

Mommy Style: I GOT THIS.

Mommy-style is a hard thing. Postpartum, the bod is not what it used to be. Neither is my time or energy. As a new Mama and nursing student who also works part time, you all should be thankful that most days I've showered and my breasts are tucked in. That's my criteria for a successful look. I wield my baby as a distraction from this hot mess. I might be disheveled, but LOOK AT THE CHILD. He is the cutest, most adorable entity in the history of existence.

One evening, my partner pointed out a stain on my shirt. I realized that it was rogue egg-over-easy, and it had lived there all day. I had to quickly recall my day and think of all the faces that I'd been around that had said nothing. JERKS. Thankfully I had successfully avoided any exposure to future employers or the President.

My style is now about functioning. Cute pixie hair. Vibrams. Leggings with a wool skirt and a waffle shirt to boot. Bracelets from The Raining Season. Y'all can deal, because at this stage of the game my kid doesn't really care what I wear and I know this to be true. Besides, I'm workin' this look.

What Hootoo cares about is zerberts in the morning, hanging with Maggie, receiving his daily rendition of Loving You, a Mom and Dad that love him and each other, feeling safe, loved and full. I got this.

Letters to Hootoo - RÖCH, Digital Artist

Aquamarine
Rhys Ö. Coutu-Hurtt
Digital Painting
2012

Red Red Red
Rhys Ö. Coutu-Hurtt
Digital Painting
2012

Untitled
Rhys Ö. Coutu-Hurtt
Digital Painting
2012

Letters to Hootoo - Plans, the Sequel

I don't know what it is about this time of year that makes me conscious of the future. Yesterday I was reminded to make PLANS. You were sleeping in the car on the way home from some errands and I wanted to extend the drive to maximize nap time. It was just the two of us on a beautiful, crisp fall afternoon, Pink Moon playing softly on Spotify as you breathed deeply in your carseat.

My mistake was driving through a cemetery. I thought of all the people I had known, or known of, that had passed away within the past year. Oma, El, Gary, DJ, Lynn. Real people. People with families; with partners and sons or daughters.

The crisp fall afternoon faded away and the music became inaudible behind my thoughts. My thoughts made me panic; as though I was facing my mortality in that moment -- and in that moment, I was. I couldn't shake the dread that one day, it will all end. There are no guarantees that I will live a long life, and of course the day will come when I'm no longer here, in body, with you.

So we'll take each day at a time. Each day I will tell you I love you and kiss you all over your cute face. I will try not to worry or stress about the little things. We'll have dance parties, eat fruit, get dirty, love our friends, love God, work hard, snuggle, talk, and plan to do it all over again.

Life can be cruel, but life can be sweet. Like now. Neil Diamond is crooning from the kitchen. Annie is teasing Adam about his moustache. Dad is snacking and talking about the history of the song.

I choose to believe that I'll live until I'm an old woman. One that was successful, impactful, happy, a mother of many children. Part of my self will live on in you, and in the memories we will form together. You have already made me proud.

Letters to Hootoo - Just Can't Get Enough

You're ridiculous. You have become so vocal. Cooing, practicing words, letting out little roars with clenched fists. It's all very entertaining, until the day where the latter won't be so entertaining. Then we'll SHUT IT DOWN. But for now, roar on, little Hootoo, roar on.

You can sit independently now, and teased us last week with some crawling action. You have big smiles and conversations for the people you know, and have started complementing shyness with big stares for those you don't. You are digging food. Avocado, sweet potato, broccoli, bananas and apples are your victims (strawberries, not so much). Maggie is still your best friend, now with a stuffed frog that 'ribbits'. You FaceTime with Amma and Afi once a week. We celebrated Halloween at Sesame Street Live, and are now planning for your first American Thanksgiving. Life is hurried but thankfully, sweet. Just like you.

Love,
Yo Mama
xo

Letters to Hootoo - Sweet Dreams

You have been an amazing sleeper since the day you arrived home from the hospital. I am LUCKY, and so are you — you have inherited one of my superpowers, the ability to sleep at any time or place. You sleep through the night. You crash in the BOBA. You nap in the car. Sleep is a non-issue.

Until Maggie speaks.

When Maggie speaks, the dreams end, the eyes pop open and you start to crane around looking for her furry little body and listen for the next little chirp. It doesn’t matter if you’re in a light sleep or in a deep, dark slumber; the show is over.

This, of course, is what we call PAYBACK. Runt kitten? Mama brought it home to Amma and Afi, and you know him now as Feta. Cute bully breed needs a home? You know that naughty pup as Toastie Toast. Superpower number two: a love for animals. Already. Maggie brings you such joy. Your smile grows so wide when you see her and you could stare at her forever. Dad is doomed, but the impending farm is fine with me.

Letters to Hootoo - STOP IT.

You are seriously adorable. It’s all just too much. We’re off living life together (giggles, walks, naps) so I haven’t written much lately. In brief, you’re cute.
You have this new laugh now that sounds like a sinister chuckle. It’s hilarious.
You snuggle hard in my neck. Keep that up.
You recognize and remember. Morning grins at Mama. Big smiles for Dad.
You love Adam and Annie, and Mama is thankful for them.
You’ve mastered rolling over. Crawling will be a breeze.
You smoosh Amma’s face with your hands and press your face to hers. She loves that.
You’re easy, happy and healthy. That will never change. I will see to it.

The Times

I’m not quite sure what’s happening to me. I used to be pretty badass.

It’s all changed. The millennium mohawk is growing out. My gauges are shrinking. I shove photos of some baby in the faces of strangers. I save recipes and even make them happen. I attend playgroups. I SUBSCRIBE TO DAILY CRAFT EMAILS FROM MARTHA STEWART. I walk around in public cooing and repeating high pitched sounds to a small, smiling human strapped to my chest.

On the other hand, it’s still the same old me. I enjoy a good swear word. I stay up late. I drink too much coffee. I scold the driver who has left their dog alone in the car on a hot day. It’s nice to feel progressive in my own way; when a friend called me a lactivist this week I wanted to smother them in a hug of gratitude. Instead we gushed over my endless photostream of a certain number one little man. He happens to be the cutest, brightest baby in the history of the world, you know — and I’ve heard his Mom has still got it going on.

The Moment - Atwood

The moment when, after many years
of hard work and a long voyage
you stand in the centre of your room,
house, half-acre, square mile, island, country,
knowing at last how you got there,
and say, I own this,
is the same moment when the trees unloose
their soft arms from around you,
the birds take back their language,
the cliffs fissure and collapse,
the air moves back from you like a wave
and you can’t breathe.

No, they whisper. You own nothing.
You were a visitor, time after time
climbing the hill, planting the flag, proclaiming.
We never belonged to you.
You never found us.
It was always the other way round.

Essence of ginger. You are your father’s child, and I am going to be in big trouble.

xo
Yo Mama

One More Year

I’ve been spending my summer preparing for the Fall. That sounds like the season is fleeting, but I’ve got it all worked out. While Hootoo sleeps, I read. Side by side, he snores and snuggles while I study. When he wakes, we leave the house and enjoy, explore the world together. Or we settle for dance parties in the kitchen and naps on the patio.

Am I nervous about school? You bet. It’s hard enough completing nursing school as an independent student, to say nothing of the newfound pressures and demands of being a new Mama. Anxiety looms in my being. But then I take a deep breath and remember that I’m Intelligent. Organized. Creative. Optimistic. Resourceful. Dedicated.

At this point, the completion or incompletion of a degree directly impacts Hootoo’s quality of life. Talk about motivation. I keep a photo of his cute, chubby face nearby and recite specific mantras when I take a peek. Protect, provide, love, responsibility, opportunity. With study, positive energy and all that composes up my self, I’m bound for success. It will just be a long, hard road until May.

Letters to Hootoo - 10:37 PM

This is my favourite time of night. We get in bed first and you nurse while Dad closes up the house and tucks in the pets. Ten minutes later you’re in a deep sleep. Dad crawls in with us and we stare at your beautiful little self, your mouth hanging open (complete with drool), and a chubby pale arm flung across my chest. We’ll stare for a long time, talk about our day and finally, fall fast asleep.

Letters to Hootoo - Time Flies

It’s been a month since we pulled and pushed you from the comforts of the womb into this world. Literally PULLED and PUSHED. I worked hard, and Dad will retell your birth story on days you choose to get fresh and be naughty. So far, you’ve been neither of those things.

You love to be held, to snuggle, and to sleep at night (and sleep in!) in bed with us. You’re slowing discovering and becoming aware of your surroundings. It’s pretty cool to be audience to. You have the healthy appetite of a hungry hippo, which sometimes makes Dad feel put out. You’ll have to pencil in some serious man time down the road. My little man is super cute; everyone comments that your lips are mine and the rest is Dad, and that you’re already a ladykiller. You’ve started cooing and making new faces, and it’s hilarious. Thanks for that.

Happy one-month birthday. We’re glad you’re here to stay.

xo

You made it.

Letters to Hootoo - Just the Two of Us

It’s my last night with Andy, just the two of us, and there’s something bittersweet about that.

http://youtu.be/AdOWN_Z9Vdk

Knocked up.

Letters to Hootoo - Growing, Growing

I wish you were coming so people would quit asking when you are coming. 39 weeks. #bun #annoyedoven

You and Bisto will get along perfectly. 37 weeks.

Letters to Hootoo - Buns of Steel

If you could just knock off the party rock until after my shift I promise to send some ice cream your way.

xo
Yo Mama

Letters to Hootoo - Growing, Growing

Yo Mama. 33 weeks.

Letters to Hootoo - Surprise, You're Married!

Your father and I got married two weekends ago. Thanks for helping me with that proposal — I knew he couldn’t resist us.

It was all a big surprise for Dad. He didn’t know that as he and I dined at The Fiddlehead, thoughtful and wonderful family and friends were creating a candlelit aisle, arranging flowers and welcoming other guests into our home in preparation for the ceremony.

Dad was shocked, ecstatic, and speechless (you’ll understand why the last part is a big deal as you grow to know him more). It was intimate, perfect, and beautiful. It’s pretty cool that you were there, and we wouldn’t have had it any other way.

xo

Letters to Hootoo - Listen to the Mustn'ts

Listen to the MUSN’TS, child,
Listen to the DON’TS
Listen to the SHOULDN’TS The IMPOSSIBLES, the WON’TS
Listen to the NEVER HAVES
Then listen close to me— Anything can happen, child, ANYTHING can be.

Letters to Hootoo - Jesus, etc.

On Facebook, a friend posted their elation when their child recited Psalm 23 from memory. I get it. I’ve lived that, taught that. But I wonder for you Hootoo, how will I teach you what I’ve since learned about faith and God? How can I tell you that Christianity is more than Sunday School and more than what you’ll see in most people that proclaim that religion?

All I can ask is that you value honesty, kindness, compassion, equality, helping those in need and putting the Golden Rule in action. We’ll talk — just don’t ask me to explain Jonah and the Whale.

I love you. See you in a few weeks.

xo Yo Mama

ps. Keep in down in there, you’re a kickboxing machine.