You will be 5 days old today at 5:30 PM and Oh My Goodness Gracious, you only woke up twice last night. Actually, the second time I woke you up when I moved you over so I could get back in bed, so that doesn’t count. Anyway I was grateful you woke up because the milk in my chest had filled up to my chin.
So. We’re trying to think of what to call you “for short”. I generally eschew the use of nicknames, but Victoria does have 4 whole syllables and is rather formal for a tiny baby. We will NOT be calling you Vicky or Tori, by the way, and anyone who does call you either of those will be very politely but firmly ignored and/or corrected, depending on Mommy’s mood and the offending party’s general attitude.
A few possibilities:
This one is fun because then I could slightly change the words of that old Duran Duran song and sing it to you, like so: “Her name is Ria and she dances on the sand… just like that river twists across a dusty land… and when she shines she really shows you all she can… oh Ria, Ria, dance across the Ria Grande.”
Pop-Pop has already begun calling you Bug, because as he pointed out, your initials are VW. Get it? VW Bug?
How do you feel about Queen V?
Actually, I have already called you Vika a few times. Vika is cool because it almost rhymes with your Dad’s nickname, Zeke. You probably know his name is Zeke because all the kids in this family call him that, especially your big sister Ruby. As in: “ZEKE! Ruby wants some cheese!” and “ZEKE! Kiss. My. Head. NOW.”
She has him on a short leash, that one.
Speaking of knowing people’s names, you already know God’s name is Jehovah because I called out to him over and over when you were trying to be born. Remember? “Jehovah help me. Jehovah make me strong. Jehovah, Jehovah, Jehovah.”
That was during the part when you were coming so fast and my legs were shaking so bad I couldn’t walk. Daddy had filled up the nice warm pool of water for me and it took me 15 minutes to get from the bedroom to the kitchen because my legs were quaking so.
Things you love:
- our daily walks around the neighborhood
- the stove exhaust fan
- sitting upright in the sling, facing me
- your fists. I used to call you The Boxer when you were in my belly, because it felt like you were pummeling me with tiny fists like a kangaroo. Only now I know you were just trying to connect your fists to your mouth so you could suck on them. You were born with a little ridged callous on your hand from all that sucking.
You and I have a few things in common, I’ve noticed.
1) Funny looking feet. Sorry sweetie, but you don’t have a future as a foot model. 2) A hearty appetite. 3) You do that left eyebrow raise thing a la Scarlett O’Hara. It’s useful for intimidating the people around you when you don’t approve of their behavior, by the way, and you’ve already employed it. I present:
Mostly I just wanted to say how much I love you. So much. So much that my heart feels all weird in my throat and stuff. So much that I heard myself say to your Daddy last night, “No honey, I don’t want you to get the Big V.”
And by Big V I was not referring to you dear. You’ll understand in another 20 years or so.
I Love You,
P.S. Do me a favor and throw your big brother a bone, ok? As Alpha Kid, the firstborn child, he takes pride in being good with babies and you’re making him feel sad because you fuss at him when he holds you. Maybe give him a big gummy grin next time. Thank you sweetie.