Dearest Roman,
I just needed to say thank you for putting up with your mother, her work, the strangers you encounter on a near daily basis in our home, the wild children who can barely pick you up but who do so anyway, the noise, the lack of regular nap schedules, and the Caramel Macchiato Biscotti that you had for breakfast this morning. Yes I know it contains instant coffee, but you really liked it a ton. Its my nutritionally misguided way of saying thank you for all you take on with me on a daily basis. The worst you did during the Country Living shoot was tug on the photographer's beard when he picked you up (which I'm pretty sure he loved). You didn't fuss when Joyce from Westminster held you as I poured my 3rd cup of coffee during our meeting. You completely went along with being nursed (hushed) 6 times in 2 hours during a flurry of business phone calls last week. Which in my mind compensates for the Caramel Macchiato Biscotti you had for breakfast this morning. There was also that time last week where you woke up from your morning nap, but I didn't come in for a few minutes because I was in the midst of a project that felt too in limbo to put down at that moment. I walked in and found you had fallen back asleep. I'm sorry about that. But maybe you needed that extra bit of sleep, huh? You barely even cried when Eleni, who isn't big enough to get you out of your crib, tripped and toppled you both to the floor as she got you out of your crib Saturday morning. She was very sorry about that, but was excited to tell me that you didn't cry too hard. And there have been an increasing number of unknown things that you've picked up off the floor, chewed up and swallowed before I've been able to make out what they are. Sigh.
I know some days the play corner under my drafting table gets kind of old, but when I look over at you playing happily day after day after day, I am sometimes amazed that you can find fun in it still. But I guess we're the same that way. Playing in our corners. And a few times each day you crawl over to my desk, pull yourself up to my lap and cry for something new. You beat your chubby little hands on my lap for at least a nursing mom, come on. It's the least I can do right? Right. But I should say that so often, without you realizing it, I just waste my work time away watching you play. I don't dare say a word, because I know that if you hear my voice I'll break your happy focus, and my work time will crash. Work time that I often spend just watching you. You are a good, good boy.
I love you Roman Horner. xoxoxo, Mama