Ray-Ray, brand new-ish

Dear Regan,

Your name is pronounced "Ree-gan" - like the usurping daughter from Shakespeare's "King Lear" and not like the president who loved jelly beans.

For about 34 minutes, you were actually "Ray-gun" - which your nickname implies - but then someone cracked a joke that went like this: "Oh, are you a Republican?" Your poor Democratic mommy couldn't handle that. My daughter would not be an homage to conservative values! Nay! And, so, you became Ree-gan, not Ray-gun, and I've cursed you to a lifetime of having to explain that your name and your appellation are, in fact, not the same.

Sorry.

You were born on your due date (Thank you!), although, with you, I had what the doctors called "prodromal labor" which basically means I was in pain for 5-6 days prior to your actual birth with real contractions that just didn't do much. I went into the hospital on a Friday, suffering whenever I walked, and was given some sleepytime meds and sent home with the instructions not to return until my water broke.

Worst. Advice. Ever.

On Sunday morning (March 27th) around 2 a.m or so, my water did, in fact, break. All over my fake Uggs. Not that I'm complaining. Much. Any more.

Dada and I got into the car, and I almost had you in the parking lot of the ER. Exactly eleven minutes after we arrived, you were born. The nurse, who was also the star of some commercial for Chantrix, told me not to push until a doctor arrived. Somehow, I managed to calmly ask her how one might "not push."

There was no epidural, which, I have to say, I was a little sad about. But it's not like you lingered for 8 hours like some other babies I know. You were, however, about two pounds heavier than they expected you to be, weighing in at a subtle and delicate 10 lbs, 7 ounces.

Yowzer.

Almost immediately I noticed how different you were from your sister, not exactly in terms fo physicality but just in personality. Despite the lack of medication involved in your birth, you were very lethargic, spending most of your first day eating and sleeping (emphasis on the latter). You had difficulty latching, although eventually became a champion nurser, and you slept whether or not someone held you.

But, like your sister, you were alert, curious about your world, even from the earliest days, and you continue to surprise with me by how quickly you learn and do things. At nine months, you're crawling, pulling yourself up into standing positions, and working on cruising furniture. You make sounds like resonate like "Mamama" (Fi started off with "Dada" noises) and you've already figured out the purpose of a sippy cup. You are working on your baby signs, mastering quickly the sign for "more" which you use interchangeably as "more," "yogurt," and "all done."

You love your sister, although you choose to show your affection most by grabbing her hair and trying to eat her face. It's adorable, if a little painful. You're strong, so strong, and smart. When you and Fi realize how to combine your powers as one, Dada and I are totally screwed.

I love you so much that sometimes it hurts a little.

Mama