10 Month Letter

Dear VeraBug,

Last week you turned 10 months old. You've upended my life so much that I've completely lost that timely woman I once was. I used to be early for everything, never missed a deadline, never failed to get a zillion things done in a day. Now I'm lucky if I cross off half of my list.

But when I'm busy watching you delight in opening and closing the bathroom door repeatedly or emptying one of the drawers in the kitchen, all that stuff on my list doesn't seem so important. Screw the bills and thank you notes and passport renewals, right? Let 'em sit, I say. I'd rather watch you try to empty the dishwasher…as I'm trying to load it.

In this last month a lot has happened, as usual. We went to Florida and you took your 11th and 12th flights. You went swimming for the first time and it was like the first time for me and your dad all over again. Your little body with your tummy and your sweet, chubby thighs couldn't have looked cuter in your three (count 'em, THREE) bathing suits. 

You've been babbling like a parrot and we've taken to babbling right back at you. One of your more popular nicknames these days is Dugadoo, because that's one of your favorite words. We also call you VeraBug, bed monster, bath monster, BugStar and BugTime.

By the time I write the next monthly letter you will have taken your first steps, I'm sure of it. So this will be the last letter in which I my little Bug can't yet walk. You can stand all by yourself, your little knees bent just so, a funny, determined sort of look on your face, and you have a little shopping cart which you use to cruise all over the house. Poor cats.

The other day I was putting you down for a nap and you had just fallen asleep in my arms in the rocker in the nursery and I just sat there, looking down at you. I thought about what would happen if I were to die now for some reason and, because I'm neurotic, I thought about how I would want your father to remarry, to find some nice woman to love and make a life with. But then I realized that meant that you would have some other woman in your life, standing in as your mommy, and fat tears rolled down my cheeks at the thought. (I got my period this week so this explains my irrational crying spell. We'll talk ALL about periods in about 12 years, don't worry.)

In any case, I want you to know that I'll always be your mommy, VeraBug. Even if something were to happen to me today and I was gone, you'd still always have me as your mom. I will love you forever and ever, long after I'm gone and you're gone and there's nothing but a soft, echoey sound left. I'll still love you then. I promise.


p.s. You slept through the night a couple of times last week. Can you PLEASE start doing that regularly?



  • Tara
    Posted April 13, 2010 at 8:49 am | Permalink

    “Even if something were to happen to me today and I was gone, you’d still always have me as your mom. I will love you forever and ever, long after I’m gone and you’re gone and there’s nothing but a soft, echoey sound left. I’ll still love you then. I promise.”
    Reading this made me smile, and cry, all at once.
    I know this is true for the way my parents and I love each other, too.
    And whilst not a day goes by that I don’t actively remember it (or hear it told to me on the phone by my mother 🙂 ), it’s still a shock to hear someone else say it. It makes it more true, somehow – like ‘Look, see, this is really what my mum says she feels!’
    What a special gift that love is. And how lucky Miss V. is, to be told.

  • Posted April 13, 2010 at 10:44 pm | Permalink

    Awww… it’s a love affair, really, isn’t it? She will be so thankful for these letters and videos when she’s old enough to understand.

  • Posted April 14, 2010 at 11:33 am | Permalink

    Its totally a love affair. And I need to start printing these things out and putting them in the baby book!

  • Posted April 14, 2010 at 12:16 pm | Permalink

    Thank you so much for this comment. It was so nice to read.

  • Tracy
    Posted April 15, 2010 at 6:19 am | Permalink

    Claire, sat and cried at my computer reading this beautiful letter, what treasures for V some day.

  • Posted April 15, 2010 at 7:37 am | Permalink

    Oh, youre sweet Tracy. Im coming to the Cape in July! I want to see you!

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