Dreaming wasn't the answer. Everyone I knew had a dream and shared it with me. Some hadn't happened, some had yet to happen, but most would never come to pass. Last year, I knew a man who had two legs. This year, he has only one. How do these things happen?

I sleep like a baby, it's the restless wake I have to contend with. How strange that pleasure comes down to something so simple as food. Truth is, it's the simple pleasures that keep us contained. Starvation is an illusion. Have you attempted photosynthesis? There's a fine line between plants and humans. My heart is not heart-shaped, strangely enough. I guess you can't understand that. As hard as it might be for you to believe, inspiration is meaningless. Creation is disconnected. If I ever let you think it was up to me, I was only a container pretending to be food and water. You should have known better than to let me feed you glass and plastic.

Loss is so hard to photograph. Blank spaces are like lost memories, misinterpretations of deja vu. The sudden remembrance of absence. Oh, that's right, there is nothing there.

Dreaming isn't the answer. Plans will crush you with their infinite possibilities. All the endings and imaginary hopes of "choose your own adventure" stories will send you hurtling down the path of most resistance. Change is essential, but it never seems to stick. The temporary misdirection of hope and false futures take your spirit. Dogs don't hate their chains, they are a part of them, a piece of what matters most to their existence. Cats don't miss their claws. I don't miss my hope, my peace, my faith. I never knew them anyhow.

What is noble? What is true? What is pure? I asked God to humble me, and never withdrew the request. I've lost everything inside me that mattered, while all outside remained intact. The truth was that I'd never let my world go, but I had so much more to give. Laws are so strict, so solid in their own creation. Heavenly beings need not interfere. Great dreams of broken men crowd my thoughts. I was one of them sooner than I knew possible, even as I still saw myself as a child. Magic is so fleeting. Words and images are all I've known, and now it feels so empty. Why am I so empty?

Everyone has those simple answers, those quick fixes. "Just embrace this one drug/belief/faith/philosophy and all will return to normal." False teachers are easy to spot. "Teacher" is a false thing. "Learner" can be the only truth. But learning is such a hard road. Everyone has those metaphors, those clever anecdotes. "I've done it, so can you." There's something wrong here, am I right? We're all so damn different. Self-doubt will keep you crushed under a complete failure of motivation.

The lowest points soon appear to be the highest peaks. At the level of near-exhaustion and mental anguish, words and thoughts pour out unhindered. After all the wasted moments, pain is like currency, because it's the last thing any of us will surrender. We would give everything, EVERYTHING to avoid pain. It is the one thing that can purchase freedom. More than money, more than love, it all comes down to pain. It humbles us to a point where we'll never fully understand the importance. It crushes us, maybe even kills us.

There are so many foolish questions. There are times I feel that there is no other kind. It is not through asking that we found the truth, it was through receiving. In the end, no one welcomes the hard answers. What if, after all, there is no way out? What if your beliefs are true but not meant to set you free? What if your pain is only a lesson to others?

What if your greatest fear is that there's really nothing to be afraid of?

Dear Butternut,

Your momma's a slacker. Sorry. I'm only a week late in writing this letter, so it could be worse, eh? You could be thirteen and laying a guilt trip on me for never making a baby book for you, which, um, I haven't gotten around to yet either. Anyway.

Month five was another big month for you. We officially unswaddled you because you started rolling back to belly in your sleep. And boy, did it tick you off to wake up on your belly without your arms free to turn yourself back over. Your father and I were frankly terrified that your sleep routine would totally degenerate...and that fear was somewhat well founded, as your nap routine went out the window. But you still sleep well enough at night, at least once we finally get you asleep.

You do roll, but only a few times a week. You are much more interested in doing your "baby crunches" because you want to sit up so badly. We practice sitting up every day, and you love it. You have even "tripoded" a couple of times and impressed the pediatrician because that's a six-month school. Way to go, my little overachiever!

There's a spoon in this month's photo because it was the month of starting solids. One night shortly after you turned four months, your father announced he was bored and started feeding you baby oatmeal. Yup. This is our parenting philosophy. Have fun with that for the next couple decades.

We call you our baby bird when you're eating solids because you open up your moth for more as soon as the spoon gets within several inches. We are just sticking with oatmeal for now, but soon we will be branching out into pears, poultry, and squash. You are beginning to master putting things in your mouth, so we are looking forward to doing finger foods eventually as well.

We skipped the solid food when we went to New England for a week. Yes, your very first plane and train trips - we flew to Boston where you met your Grandpa Slotnick and Auntie Nicole and their family, and then we took a train to Maine for a reunion with your Nana's family. You were such a trooper, even though you were utterly exhausted every day due to lack of naps. And of course, everyone thought you were made of awesome.

We sing more lullabies now that you're having a harder time falling asleep, and you just stare at me in fascination. You smile little smiles, and I try so hard to not smile back so you know it's naptime and not playtime. But I am not good at playing it straight-faced, so you know I'm happy you're happy.

Speaking of that, you are such a joy. I just don't know how else to explain it. We marvel at what a happy baby you are. One of my greatest wishes for you is that you retain your ability to smile and laugh at the life's littlest joys.

That's it, Stinky McStinkerson. Momma loves you.

Love,

That Lady Whose Hair You Like to Pull