Dear Eliza, 23 Months Old

The days are getting shorter. We're starting to get cooler weather and rain in the forecast, which is a good thing for all the forest fires happening in the mountains. Despite playing it close to home due to your brother's age, I'd like to think we made the most out of summer. 

We didn't go on any official camping trips, but we had a tent pitched in the backyard for several weeks. You used it as a default playhouse, and we spent a total of four nights outside! We had a couple false starts because it was too light too late, but these last weeks have worked out better with your sleep schedule. I learned the trick was to remove everything from the tent that would distract you, which is pretty much everything you don't sleep on. I hung some "special lights" (strand of twinkle lights), that you became quite obsessed with and focused your busy little mind so you could get to sleep easier.

You fell asleep once I could get you to stop talking.  

You talk all the time. All the time. Motormouth. I have a reputation of being rather extroverted, always saying what's on my mind. You are my child in this respect. You have a complete language now, though I can only understand 70 percent of it without your Mom translating for me. She gets twice the exposure to your language so is totally fluent. You're stringing together multiword sentences with subjects and verbs, though missing most other parts of speech. That's OK. Your soft, mumbled, cavegirl language gets the point across most of the time.

Of course, the summer was also filled with a lot of time at the parks, beaches and zoo. You have strong opinions about where you go and what you do. This includes what you wear to those places. Yesterday, we went to the Puyallup Fair and you were sporting some Wayfarer shades and a demin jacket, a dress and leggings. You looked hip as shit and definitely outdressed the rest of us. I expect this will continue. On the subject of the fair, you went on your first ride -- a slow boat -- and ate your first fair scone! You are such a Northwest kid and I love it!

The end of summer also means school is starting. UPS students have been back in class for a couple weeks, and Tacoma schools started. We are putting you into pre-pre-school at Narrows Co-op starting next week. You'll go twice a week for a few hours. We took you to the sign-up day and I thought, "Holy shit my kid is starting school." You're still so little to me but your life is really starting as you get more exposure to the world and its systems, like education. We're excited for you to get a little more social time with other kids and start to get challenged by other adults, like Teacher Judy (not to be confused with Judge Judy, who you can also learn from). We know you've got the chops to start school. You can count to 15 and cut corners counting to 20. You know your alphabet and several songs. You're also starting to "read" books back to us, reciting select book pages from memory and showing the book away from you like you see at library story time. Let's start some college applications.

Factors like schools and our small house have caused your Mom and I to think hard about the next few years. We went on a real estate hunt in the last month, which isn't so unusual with your Mom's passion for open houses and the Redfin app. We put an offer on a great house in Maple Valley but lost it in this crazy competitive real estate market. The house was great -- bigger, big property, newer construction, mother-in-law downstairs -- and Maple Valley is a great place to live -- great schools, good community vibe, lake access, etc. Losing the house was a good thing. I wasn't ready to leave Tacoma. I wasn't sure we should buy in such a high market when we can be comfortable at our current cost of living. Instead of trying to make another house work, we've decided to make this old house work. We've got contractors coming in to bid us on adding a bathroom upstairs so we can put you and eventually Matteo up there. We're also going to raise the drop ceilings downstairs, which has been your Mom's #1 aesthetic request. Happy wife, happy life. 

So, you'll continue to be a Tacoma resident. Looking back at summer, that's totally awesome. 

Considering that we're spending a bunch of money to add a bathroom, could please embrace potty training? The photo in this letter is evidence that we're trying. We'd love to get down to one kid in diapers, which means you need to get on the program, sister. Fewer diapers, happy life.

Love, Dad

Dear Matteo, Two Month Old

We are having so much fun with you these warm summer months. We're spending a ton of time outside and often hang out in the back patio where there's good shade for you. We've gone for a couple long walks to the Proctor Market and on Point Defiance trails now that you're gaining some strength and less of a bobblehead. 

I'm not sure if it's the weather, your age, or just your character, but you are a happy little guy. There are a couple sounds your Mom and I pair along with our own smiles that make you mirror back a big, genuine smile. You wind up for it by hunching your shoulders and circling your head around to release a big, all-gums smile. You look like a cute little turtle. We egg you on as long as we can, but you get a little bored of the reciprocal smile game after about a minute. They're the best minutes of the day. 

You are eating and sleeping really well. The combination of them put you at being a heavyweight baby. I've seen twice this month other babies that are at least double your age and the same size. You don't have rolls of skin like other big babies (and as I was), you're just well rounded. 

Your primary activity is tracking your Mom. You are like her secret service, always watching where she is and what she's doing. I'm sure you'd take a bullet for her. It's especially entertaining when you're being held by someone else, because you tend to give zero shits about that person if you can hear Mom's voice. You get all of your neck strength from turning about trying to see where she is. The reason you're looking at the camera in this month's letter photo is because she's behind it. When you're in her arms, as you often are, you gaze lovingly like nothing else is happening in the world. In that moment, nothing is. 

In a bigger picture, there's a lot happening out there. North Korea and the U.S. are playing war games, with North Korea testing nuclear bombs and flying a missile over Japan. Houston flooded this month from Hurricane Harvey, displacing tens of thousands in America's fourth largest city. The news is always bad, but that doesn't make it anymore comforting.

We've been in a bubble of safety here in the Pacific Northwest during my lifetime, and I hope that continues for us. Despite globalization and a new generation that sees citizenship as global, governments continue to act as if country borders are (and should have) walls. Where climate change has thrown havoc at other parts of the country and world, we've been spared. All we can really complain about (and enjoy) is a warmer, drier summer. Knock on a standing tree. 

Like most parents, we sometimes contemplate the kind of world we brought you into. How dangerous is it? How much can we control to keep you safe? Are we doing our part to help make it better? These questions are overwhelming and prevent some people from having children at all.

That last question is where we have our best answer: you. 

With one more outstanding person put into this world, we've got a reason to be optimistic. Maybe you'll be a community leader. Maybe you'll help in a major relief effort. Maybe you'll discover an entirely different way of sustainable living. Or maybe you'll simply do your part as a global citizen to make smart, ethical decisions that add to a big change in our politics and climate. That'd be no small impact. I bet you'll be up for the challenge. 

Love always, Dad

Dear Eliza, 22 Months Old

The story of the past month was both of us contracting hand, foot and mouth disease, or HDFM. 

In our first couple weeks with your new baby brother, we kept our activities low key but still made it to the zoo and a few parks. At one of those venues, you picked up the highly contagious disease. You first signaled something wasn't right with your mouth because you started complaining when eating. I'll never forget the look and scream you made when you tried eating grapes. It was painful to watch.

You also suddenly ran a high fever, so we put you on medicine overnight to keep the fever down. 

We did what every concerned parent does: We searched on Google. 

The results of our intensive online research in parent forums were inconclusive. We took you to the doctor. The spots inside your throat were the easy giveaway for the diagnosis of HFMD. Like the doctor said, we started seeing other spots on your hands and mostly feet. 

The disease made us a divided house to try and prevent it from passing to Matteo. I took care of you, and your Mom took care of him. After a day you started eating easier, but your feet looked worse. You had a great spirit and still wanted to play and mostly have a normal day. You slept a little more and still had a fever bouncing around. After a few days you were really back to your normal self. 

And that's about the time I started showing HFMD symptoms.

The adult version was way, way worse. First, I picked up a sore throat for a couple days, which felt like strep throat. Then the fever came. Then my hands started to burn and itch and eventually showed a lot of spots. I was very tempted to cut my hands off at certain hours of the night. My feet never had spots, thankfully, but swelled so I couldn't put on shoes. I still needed to continue to take care of you and stay away from Mom and Matteo, but I was helpless. I couldn't sleep and couldn't comfortably eat or drink. It was a long week, and I'm very thankful that your Mom and Matteo never got sick and that your Mom put up with both of us.  

We're now a couple weeks on the other side of HFMD. Your feet are still peeling from the blisters and so are my hands. Gross factor: high.

Now that things are somewhat back to normal, your Mom and I are able to see how some crankiness, or what we call "being a crank pot," wasn't HFMD. It's an early symptom of the Terrible Twos. 

You have a strong opinion about everything. You want to decide what you wear, what you do, when your diaper should be changed, what you eat, etc. You're so keen to give an opinion, when I ask if you want something like a drink you say, "Yes, no, yes, no, yes." I only know what you mean by the very last word you say. 

When you reject direction, Mom is quick to barter. "If you want to watch Elmo, eat five more bites of pasta," she'll say. Sometimes you'll take the bait. Sometimes you fight it but eventually give in. You still rely on Mom or I to manage the TV remote, so the house always wins. 

Your ability to form an opinion combined with picking up on your Mom's bartering skills may serve you well later in life. You sound like a lawyer in training, which was always a profession that intrigued me.

But right now it's a little exhausting. The defense needs to rest. The prosecution needs to learn how to go to sleep on time and without demanding to watch Elmo. Deal?

Love, Dad

Dear Matteo, One Month Old

I am so happy to be your Dad! 

Your arrival into the world was one of great speed and joy.

When I say speed, I mean it. This is the story of your birthday. 

Your sneaky Mom had some contractions in the very early morning of July 3 but didn't make a fuss to wake me up and bother telling me. Like I cared, right? Your Mom was convinced the doctors had your due date wrong, insisting it was supposed to be June 30, not July 7. By her calendar, you were already a few days late. By 9 a.m., we were all awake and decided that the contractions were close and strong enough to go to the hospital. Your sister stayed at the house with Grammie and Popa, who had arrived by car like the Indianians they are a few days earlier. 

Except we didn't go to the hospital like we did with your sister. We chose to have a different experience at the St. Joseph midwifery birthing center -- and the experience couldn't have been more different. The midwifery center is new since Eliza was born, so a new option for us. It provided some trade-offs. On the plus side, you get a modern, hotel suite-style room for labor, delivery and postpartum, including a great big bath for water labor. They offer nitrous oxide for pain, a doula onsite, and you also get to go home (and are forced) within 12 hours after delivery. On the not-so-plus side, there's no epidural option, and if delivery goes the wrong way, you're a few minutes by cart to the doctors across the street.

When we arrived at the midwifery center, we got checked in and you had some stress tests. We weren't ready for go-time yet, so the midwife on staff advised us to go for a walk for an hour and come back. Your Mom had some good contractions, leaning over some outdoor stairs on I Street that we can drive by anytime you ask. She's a big fan of leaning over and forming a right angle through contractions. We went back into the midwifery center after that hour, and while your Mom had dilated more, we still weren't in active labor. The time was about 10:45 a.m.

There will be some debate in the history starting about now. Your Mom has a communication style based upon the word "funny" and "think." She uses them in a polysemic fashion to explain many unrelated things. Anything is "funny" to your Mom. Not "ha ha" funny, but as in strange, interesting, entertaining, etc. Funny is many things but never "serious." Your Mom also "thinks" many things, and usually "thinks" means "really want" or "should happen."

We were told to go for a walk again. That wasn't "funny" direction to your Mom and she chose to stay put. She was still having big contractions, so she said things like, "I think I might want an epidural" and "What if I went to the hospital?" Your Mom also uses questions as statements. Many people do. Take note of that. Because she said these things in such a roundabout way, they didn't happen. To that lesson, if you want something, say it directly. Even when people speak the same language, it doesn't mean they understand your version of it. Your Mom will claim that the midwives forced her to stay put, but I more think that we didn't communicate or really know what we wanted to do in the moment. 

Your Mom's contractions became suddenly stronger, and the midwives started prepping our birthing suite. Your Mom's water broke in the room at about 11:15 a.m., and I think she was happy to prove to the midwives we didn't need another damn walk. They asked her if she wanted to labor in the bath and she agreed. We had taken an online course for the water birth, and it's a good thing we did because you were born in that bathwater a little more than an hour later at 12:24 p.m. 

That's also why that little history on your Mom asking about an epidural didn't matter. You came too fast for her to get one anyway. And without an epidural your Mom performed a miracle getting your 9 pound, 11 ounce body out of hers. 

I think the bath helped a lot with the late contractions and active pushing that took your Mom no more than 20 minutes. She was in the back corner of the tub with feet up on the opposite end, and we had two midwives helping with delivery. I leaned over to hold your Mom's hand from one side of the tub. As you were a considerably large little guy, your shoulders got stuck after your head was born. That was scary because, hello, you were underwater. The talented midwives quickly reacted, turning your Mom over onto her hands and knees and pulling you out from behind out of the water. The midwives quickly cut the cord and moved you over to the table to help you start breathing. 

That was tough for me to watch. You were really limp. Your sister had a tough entry into the world, too. After a considerably long labor she was purple but had a good cry. You were nearly white, though it was hard to tell how much of that was vernix. Moreover it just took you more time to cry -- about a minute. You were trying but it just wasn't happening. They roughed you up some more, and we finally heard that cry we needed. I hugged the nurses immediately after hearing that first little noise. They rushed me to take off my shirt so you and I could have skin-to-skin time while your Mom was getting out of the tub and on the bed. I was so excited to get to hold you first! The doula took a first photo of us that I'll forever cherish. 

I'm sure you'll look at that photo in the future and think I look young, excited and awfully pale for that Italian crest tattoo. All true. 

Once your Mom was settled she got more skin-to-skin time with you. Your color came along nicely over that first hour and we examined all of your perfection. 

The story goes that when I was born, my extended family gathered around the viewing room to get a glimpse of me. Back in the 80s, hospitals were a little more relaxed and way less secure. They had these viewing rooms where they'd put all the newborns on display to give parents a break and distract visitors. My Nonno Enzo, a proud Italian immigrant, identified me and said in a thick Italian accent in front of a large group of Seattleites, "That's a Mottola. Look at the size of those balls!" 

Well, like father like son.

Nonno also said, "That's a light one." Though you're a quarter Italian, you had thick, dark hair -- thanks to your Mom. Your name suits you well. We liked the sound of Matteo, not named after anyone, and I like the rich alliteration with our last name. You already sound famous. Your middle name, Paolo, is of course a nod to me and your Nonno Paolo. 

Our first visitors were Eliza, Grammie and Popa. Eliza peeked around the corner into the room, honed in on you and your Mom and ran over at toddler speed, saying "baby wow" over and over. One emotion in the whole experience I didn't expect was the overwhelming feeling of realizing that we creating siblings. Your Mom and I created your relationship. What a trip. 

This experience of having another child has been so wonderfully different. As a new parent with Eliza, every day was an entertaining surprise. With you, we can anticipate what's next and look forward to it. I feel more appreciative of every moment we have, knowing how quickly it will come and go and how much I'll miss it. 

I've been home a lot of the past month due to paternity leave at work and a week of me being sick. It's been so fun to watch you grow and adapt to the world. You've spent most of that time in the cycle of sleeping, nursing, farting/belching, making dirty diapers and going back to sleep. My favorite moments right now are in the evenings, holding you while you sleep on my chest. You still fit between my chin and waist, and I know that won't last much longer. We think you're 15 pounds already! 

What's also different is that you're a little dude. I've been there and can relate to how the world is set up for you, what to embrace and what to change. It's an awesome reminder of all the life I've lived and all the life ahead of you. I'm excited for our relationship and my role to help you become the wonderful person that I know you will be. 

Love always, Dad

Dear Eliza, 21 Months Old

Dear Eliza,

You are a big sister now, hooray! Welcome to the Oldest Sibling Club. 

A few hours after Matteo was born, you came to the hospital with your Grammie and Popa to meet him. I'll never forget how you curiously peeked around the open door of our room to see if we were there. When you saw your Mom, you lit up and ran to the bed. You kept saying "Oh wow baby!" over and over. 

You were so sweet and excited to see Matteo. You looked him over for several minutes and cuddled with your Mom while he slept. After some practice at "gentle touches" with Matteo, you became distracted with your own voice and how you could make it echo with high screeches in the room. Such a toddler. That was your sign that you were done with visiting your brother, and we sent you back to the house. 

Just a week into being a family of five (I have to count Greta), we're getting used to a different dynamic. Just as we're keeping an eye on Matteo, you are getting quick on your feet. It's a concerning combination that made us lose track of you yesterday. I was cleaning up the garage and your Mom was tending to Matteo. Everyone thought someone else was watching you, and in no time you had snuck out of the house, behind me in the garage and out to the front yard to find Popa. Very dangerous! Whereas a week prior we'd probably be talking to you and keeping track of your whereabouts, now we have to coordinate who's watching you. We're also installing some door latches to make it easier on your Mom when it's just you, Matteo and her when I'm at work. 

Your Grammie and Popa are leaving tomorrow to drive back to Indiana. You read that right: DRIVE. West coast people like yourself like to fly places to save time. Midwest people like your Mom and grandparents like to drive, take their time and see the sights. Crazy, I know. They are heading south from here to the Oregon coast and on to the Redwoods before heading back east. 

You've been a crank-pot the last couple weeks and showing signs of the "terrible twos." You have stronger opinions of what you want and don't want, whether it's a game, clothes, music, or food. I think your legs have grown a couple inches, which explains the crankiness and long naps. Growing up is hard work. 

You're getting smarter with the days. You can sing your entire ABCs without error and identify most of the letters at random. You can also count to 15, though you usually skip from four to nine and then rattle off the teens. Your favorite song right now is "Wheels on the Bus," and you can sing on time and know all the steps in the song. 

You're a bit of an adrenaline junkie. You love fast motions like swinging and spinning around. I've taken advantage of that and started to take you on jogs with Greta. I appreciate it because I could use the exercise. You squeal with delight when we start running because you hold the leash (attached to the stroller) and think you're getting Greta to run fast ahead.

Greta has become your buddy. You like to feed her and always look up and say "One more scoop" in between scoops of dog food. If Greta has gained some weight, it's credit to your consistent overfeeding. You like to lean over and give her hugs and have started to give her commands like "come here" and "back up." You have quite the stern tone and sound like a little general.

You are pushing your athleticism. You like climbing the rocks at the Ruston spray park and run all over the yard, falling often. Your knees have constant "boo-boos," but you're a tough kid and brush it off. You have an impressive arm throwing arm, just like your Mom, and can throw a tennis ball overhand at my chest from 6 feet away. We got you a balance bike and you're starting to get the hang of pushing and steering. 

Seeing little Matteo reminds us that you are no longer a baby. We talk about how he reminds us of you and how much fun we've had with you these two years, growing from a baby into a little girl. When Matteo was born, I wondered how we've affected your life. Most people would say parenting is selfless but I'd argue it's just as selfish because you bring children into an uncertain world and, with siblings, you create new, unsolicited relationships. No one asked you if you wanted a brother! As you'll observe through life, not all siblings get along well. I hope you two will because you'll always have a common upbringing and the longest relationship in each other's lives. That's pretty special.

You're already benefitting from having a brother because it's creating more time for you and me to hang out. A couple days ago, I got to take you to the Proctor library for story time so your Mom could stay home with Matteo. I've never done that before because I'm usually working. It was fun to see you know the routine of songs and try to get me to play along. We turned the day into a date, grabbing coffee and donuts afterward.

I look forward to a lot more dates, and you can thank Matteo for that. 

Love, Dad