Your dad and I both have kind of junky cars. My car has such a long list of ailments that trying to list them all would only end in boredom. Suffice it to say, if you knew what kind of car you were riding around in, you would be embarrassed. But don’t worry, by the time you get to the point where you are mortified by your parents we will (hopefully) have newer cars that are not as crappy and that will be one less thing that you will have to cringe about when all your cool friends find out what dorks you live with. On with the point of the story: Your daddy’s car is not as clunky as mine, the most notable being the door handles. The outside handle on the driver’s side is broken and the inside handle on the passenger’s side is also broken. Getting in and out of his car is always a struggle. I used to not be able to get out of the passenger’s side because you have to pull on a metal hook with your finger really hard and it hurts and I don’t like it when things hurt. So I used to make your dad come around the car and let me out. But then one day I opened it by myself. That day just happened to be April 8, 2008, the day after you were born. I’ve had a baby. Now I can do anything.
Recently lots of people around us have been having babies. There have been two babies at church and one at my work. All these people had baby boys and they all appeared around the same time. Seeing those tiny babies with their skinny limbs and sleepy eyes, still curled up in the fetal position has brought back memories of your first days with new freshness. You know Norah, I loved those days with you, the awe and overwhelming love, your precious fragility, how absolutely teeny you seemed to be. But these days, these days of jabbering and smiling, of definite opinions and screams of indignation, these days of swatting toys and almost rolling and newfound strength, these days are great. I used to be sad that you were never going to be a teeny newborn again, but now, after seeing those newborns, I am just so excited to continue experiencing growing up with you. We have a long road ahead of us.
Also of note, seeing you next to those newborns was like seeing a giant watermelon next to a puny squash. You Are Huge! The other day I measured you to see how you were growing, and after mis-measuring your head and freaking out that your brain wasn’t growing correctly and then forgetting to change the age on the calculator and getting back results that said you were some kind of gigantic mutant, I finally got what I was looking for. You are 25 inches long which places you in the 90th percentile for length. You weigh 13 pounds which places you in the 50th percentile for weight and your head is 16 inches around which is also in the 50th percentile. I would like you to pay particular attention to your length. Norah, you are in the 90th percentile for your length. That means you are longer than most babies your age. Where did that come from? This is bizarre because your dad and I have probably never been taller than most people our age, and somehow we created this super long spawn. It must has to be the great-grandpa genes kicking in.
Since we are talking about the family genes, you got to meet lots of family these past two months. You met your G-ma and your Grandpa Al and your Uncle Tristan, who upon learning that postpartum women have a hard time with bladder control made it his goal to make me pee my pants. I blame that on you Norah, the peeing on myself and the wide hips I blame on you. But don’t feel bad, you’re worth it. You’ve already met lots of other aunts and uncles, and hopefully you will meet your Aunt Sara soon. Everyone loves you, just in case you were wondering.
Little girl, you are such a joy. Thank you for bringing such a light into our lives. Thank you for your toothless smiles, for letting me nuzzle your fuzzy head, for splashing me while you take a bath, for kicking me with your little feet, for looking so cute in your bunny slippers and for taking a break from your meals to smile at me. And I’m sorry you have to ride around in ugly cars. Also, please stop outgrowing your clothes before you get to wear them. Thanks.