Em-Skinny Bop!

Dear Emma,

You are still the sweetest little thing in the world. You are so petite and pretty. However, the "Skinny" in your nick name does not refer to your cute little physique. We still call you Em-Lynny sometimes, but that nick name inspired your new nick name, "Em-Skinny." Your dad and I are silly. You see, sweetie, Mom and Dad were children of the 1980's, and there were these wild and crazy music bands back then with men who had long hair. They called them all "Hair Bands." Anyway, one of these bands was called Poison and they wrote a song called "Unskinny Bop" which has nothing to do with you. Actually, as I read a little about the song, it has nothing to do with anything. It's nonsense. It just had a catchy tune that stuck with your dad for some reason and he sings it to you all the time like this: "Em-skinny bop, bop, bop!" and you sing it back to him, too. It's so cute.

You and your dad have a special bond. Between Daddy and Mimi, Mommy sometimes feels a little slighted, but I know you love me, too. You hug me tight and rub my back so sweetly. You love playing with my hair and calling out, "Hair," and then touching my ears: "Ears!" But, you are a daddy's girl for sure. You two love to play. In fact, sometimes when he means to get on to you or correct you, you don't take him seriously. You point your finger at him and smile your sweet smile, trying to inspire his playful nature. Or you say, "Hi, Dad," and play on his soft spot for you. But when you really know he means it, it almost breaks your heart.

One of the things you've been doing that disappoints us both is biting your brother. You have been waiting until bed time to make your move in the dark. I laid you both in bed and 10 minutes later, I heard Ethan scream out in pain and he cried. Ethan told on you when I came into the room. I comforted him, and I got on to you in a harsh voice. I told you to say you're sorry: "I sowwy, Athan." You looked very sincere. But, the next night, you did it again, and this time I could hear you laughing through the monitor! You were laughing at your brother's pain, Emma. And you made a big bruise on poor Ethan's chest. Your Daddy and I got on to you strongly and you cried. We reminded you several times throughout the next day that you hurt your brother, showed you the mark on his chest and told you, "No biting, Emma, or next time you're getting a spanking." That night, sure enough, I heard that familiar cry from Ethan. I went in and took you out of the crib and spanked your diapered and clothed bottom, five good whops that couldn't have hurt anything but your feelings. I gave you another scolding before I put you back in the crib and this time you were sobbing. It was heart breaking for me. I hated having to spank you.  Your daddy sat silently in the rocking chair in the dark and supervised you until you fell asleep. You cried for a while and your breath had an uneven hiccup from crying for quite a while longer. It was the saddest night. But you haven't done it again yet. I'm keeping my fingers crossed.

One of your favorite things to do outside is sliding. We bought you your own slide for the back yard because when we go to the park, that's your favorite thing. You climb up the ladder and slide on down. You say, "Wee!" every single time. Then you run right around and climb up again and again.

You're learning to put clothes on by yourself, too. Lately, you've been working so hard to get your head through the right hole of my shirts from the laundry pile. You get a little frustrated sometimes but once you get it, you clap for yourself and say one of your most frequent sentences: "Good job, sister!" I'm proud of that sentence because it means that you get a lot of praise and you're developing confidence in yourself. Mommy loves you so much and you are so amazingly smart. You made Mommy and Daddy's year when you finally said, "I love you, too."

You can count all the way up to twelve! You recognize most of your numbers and letters by sight. You can even sing the whole alphabet song. I recorded you on video and I have been watching it every day because it's the cutest thing ever. I watch it at work because I miss you so much, and it helps me get through the day until I can see you and Brother again.

Dempsey Cola

Dear Ethan,

First of all, you are a talking machine. Everything I say, you say too. It's amazing how clearly you can repeat phrases and sentences now. Not only are you repeating, but you are using the sentences on your own from memory. One time, I gave you some fresh green beans that were crunchier than usual and you choked on one for a second and I was so scared. I started taking your tray off and preparing to do the heimlich maneuver on you. I told you, "Chew, Ethan! That scared Mommy! You almost choked!" and then you repeated that for at least twenty minutes. The next day, you hadn't forgotten. You reminded me, "Mommy was scared! Choked!" I loved hearing you share one of our memories together, even if it was a scary one.

Every morning you tell me, "Daddy is loud." And he really is. I always agree. He likes to holler at you and Emma from our bedroom when he hears you chatting in your crib: "Hey, Ethan, Emma!" He's also notorious for the loud yawn. His yawns project through the house. Yes, Ethan, Daddy is loud. We don't mind.

Your daddy started your nick name of this era, "Dempsey Cola" and in case you are wondering, it's a random spin-off of Pepsi Cola. He always thinks of nick names based on random associations or sound-alike expressions. We both have the tendency to mutate the names of our loved ones. You may have a whole string of nick names by the time you are a really big boy.

You say everything is "awesome, dude" or "cool, man." Cutest thing ever!

Another cute expression you use is one I learned from my mom: "gad zooks!" I say it when I'm changing your diaper sometimes, and now, you do too. It's so funny. I think you're ready to start pooping in the potty, but you say "uh-uh." I haven't taken any big steps or initiative on the matter. I think I might be as intimidated as you are. That's how I am when it comes to transitions, but I think you will surprise me in how easily you can do it soon. I think we'll try it out on my Christmas break.

You have a preoccupation with shoes these days. You want to put your shoes on in the house by yourself and wear them all day. You put on my shoes or your dad's or sister's, too. If I try to take them off of you, you get upset. You want to show me that you can take care of business by yourself.

You also think you are big enough to quit naps. I disagree. I rock you in your room for a long time and you will not allow me to lay you in your bed. You think Mommy should hold you for your whole nap. Maybe you don't realize that Mommy wants to have a little time to herself while you nap. Or maybe you do. I have no choice but to let you skip the nap some days. Mimi works very hard to get you down on the couch when she's here with you during the week, and it usually works. She told me her secret. The trick is to trick you into thinking that you're just sitting in the chair with Mimi, watching some t.v. while she rocks. When you nod off, she lays you down on the couch with your quilt and you're done. Now, I can do it, too. You never see it coming. That Mimi is so smart.

Babylocks

Ethan was born with hardly any hair at all, just the finest brown fuzz all over his little scalp. Emma had soft blondish-brown waves on the very top of her head. It was so appropriately distributed, so planned by their Creator; the girl had hair and the boy had none. We loved watching it get longer and longer. It represented how far they had come. Emma looked more and more feminine as her hair started to grow down the back of her neck. I love shampooing it in the tub and how much longer it seems when it's wet. Rodney thought the cutest thing ever was watching her brush the hair out of her eyes with a little flick of her wrist. Ethan's hair got curly. When he got sweaty outside playing, I would style and scrunch it with my fingers and the curls were very defined. That made me so happy for some reason. I could see the pride in his daddy's eyes at the beautiful curls that must have come from his side of the family.

After a while, Emma's hair was getting in her eyes more and more. A ponytail was necessary. It started to look a little messy, a little unkempt. Ethan's started to straighten a little on the top. It was flipping out behind his ears, and it had a longer section on the crown of his head. I told my hairstylist sister that the time was coming. I was preparing myself for the big snip-snip. Rodney had been dropping hints for the longest time. He wanted his son to have a boy haircut.

I can see now how people get attached to their kids' hair. The first hair cut means that what used to be permanently bonded to your child...is gone forever. Now, your child looks even less like the baby you held in your arms with the wispy, soft and curly baby locks. They now have a structured, straight edge, big kid look.

When the time came, I was nervous but ready. I stood by with the camera and snapped picture after picture of my big two-year-olds sitting in the barber chair and getting their hair cut by their Aunt Amy. I love that my sister could be the one to do it. I think they would've been afraid of a stranger, or maybe less cooperative and calm. I was so impressed with my big kids sitting there so still and patient, wearing the haircut cape in the booster seat.

After Amy made the first clip, she held the lock out toward me and asked if I wanted to keep it. When I said no and it fell to the floor, it seemed like the people in the shop stopped what they were doing and turned to look at me:

Had they heard me correctly? Was this mother really rejecting the first beautiful lock of hair from her son's head?

Gasp!

It struck me that this was not the first time that I was asked if I wanted to keep something that had been removed from my child. The nurses had asked me if I wanted to keep the umbilical cords. No. For some reason, I felt like I should apologize for my lack of sentimentality. I know they have some medical value, but I guess we'll take our chances. I don't want that lump of black flesh that they clearly do not need anymore. I definitely don't want to tape that dead skin into their baby book. Likewise, I did not want to keep Ethan's foreskin. I know people do this. Otherwise, they wouldn't be asking me. That's fine. I see why you may feel an attachment to anything that was a part of your baby or something that literally connected the two of you.

Go ahead and keep your child's foreskin, umbilical cord or hair. I'm sure he or she will appreciate that very much someday.

Forgive me, Ethan and Emma, but yours were thrown out.

I guess I would view it as pretty similar to keeping a child's scab from their first skinned knee: not necessary and, I'm sorry, but pretty gross.

I was not disgusted by the hair.... It does strike me a tad creepy, but I do understand. It's just that I have no use for it. I have countless pictures of the babies with their hair before it was cut.

And that's all I need.