Four Months and 13 Days Since You Were Born

I'm ashamed it's been so long since I've updated you on, well, you. (In my defense, I'm busy most of the day keeping you entertained and marveling at the changes that pile upon changes to make you more YOU every single day.) Sadly, you grow so fast that sometimes something comes and goes so fast that we don't even have a chance to save it, whether on camera or video, or even just to sit back and enjoy it while it's there.

For a couple of weeks there, you had this adorable wookie language made of rolling-throat-style coos. You would wake up every morning and coo happily at the pictures over your bassinet, and we would laugh at how cute the sounds were, how gentle and sweet they sounded, how apropos to such a gentle sweet baby. We meant to take the video camera upstairs and record them so we could always remember that sound. But you stopped abruptly. One day the rolling coos were just gone, and even though I'll never forget them, I'm terribly sad that there won't be a recording for me to listen to. You grow so fast now that there is barely time to sit back and record things.

Now that the rolling coos are gone, your language is made up primarily of a series of squeals and grunts. The squeals are the new way you communicate with the pictures over your bassinet, and they are so loud and annoyed-sounding that I'll have to peer surreptitiously at you in the wee hours of the morning just to be sure you aren't actually upset. You rarely are--it's just that you have a limited repertoire of sounds and that is the loudest one you possess. (Apparently, conversations with black and white Sharpie art must be LOUD.)

The grunts are the newest phenomenon--grunts so deep and throaty that they would sound more at home in the men's room of a truck stop than coming out of a 16-lb baby. You revel in each grunt, concentrating fully so you can enjoy the feeling of the sound traveling from deep in your diaphragm up through your windpipe and out of your ultra-drooly mouth with a flourish. We prefered the rolling coos, but we'll embrace the grunts for now. They'll probably be gone as quickly as the coos were.

The most fantastic development since last month is that you have finally begun laughing. Fully laughing! It's a sound so addictive and hilarious that your father and I have been known to make utter asses of ourselves just for the privilege of hearing you laugh at our idiocy. Some things you have deemed funny include: your father holding your stuffed "butterbutt" toy between his teeth and spinning it wildly, repeated zerberts and 'eating' of your body parts, and the most hilarious thing of all--tilting you from side to side. That is actually what made you laugh the very first time--me tilting you back and forth chanting "Tick, tock, tick, tock, I'm a little cuckoo clock...". Apparently, there is nothing in the world as mirth-induciing as being NOT STRAIGHT UP AND DOWN.

Aside from the laughing, your smiles have also grown both in size and frequency. Your smiles now take over your face in a giant cartoonish half-moon grin, and you smile all day long at things like being picked up, sung to, jiggled, talked to, kissed...the list goes on and on. Although your smiles are no less precious than they were before, they certainly are less of a commodity now that they're so frequent.

Although your aunt Brandy hasn't made it out for a visit yet, your grandparents on my side did come out a couple of weeks ago. They were thrilled at how much you have grown, and they enjoyed you immensely. You were particularly happy to get horsey rides from your granddad--for some reason his horsey rides are much more amusing than mine. While they were here, we took you to the aquarium for the first time. According to your grandma, your very favorite fish was a bright orange and black one that you watched intently for some time.

While they were here, your grandparents also "helped" teach you to roll over. I watched sadly as you commenced with the beginning of the end of my ability to leave you somewhere and walk up knowing you'd still be there when I got back. No more leaving you on a changing table or bed without a hand on you at all times!

Before the aquarium trip, your daddy and I took you to the Institute for Contemporary Art in Boston. You absolutely loved it. I'm not sure if it was all the bright colors, or the people, or what; but you babbled happily and chewed your toys the whole day. It was my first time nursing you in a public place, and I'm happy to say that I came through with flying colors and am now whipping out a boob and feeding you whenever I feel like it.

Now that you are older and bigger, there are a lot of changes on the horizon. I feel incredily ambivalent about all of them. On one hand, I'm so proud of what a big boy you are getting to be, and I'm thrilled to see what you do next. But on the other hand, it's sometimes a little sad to say goodbye to the littler baby things that are behind us now.

One big change that is coming up is that it is time to move you to your crib in your own room. Although the bassinet you sleep in in our room officially holds 25 lbs, you are turning over and putting weight against the sides, and we think it's not as safe for you any more. Before we can move you, we have to hang curtains, obtain a rocking chair (so I can feed you at night without going back and forth), and find a way to keep the cats from going in and sleeping on your head. I am unashamedly dragging my feet. Your room seems so far, and when you are there I won't hear you babbling in the morning, and I won't be able to reach out and touch you any time I want. But I know that you will probably sleep better in a room by yourself, and of course I will never be far away if you need me. I will probably check on you thousands of times in the first days after we do move you.

The other big change that is right around the bend is SOLID foods. I had planned to exclusively breastfeed you until you were at least 6 months old, but your pediatrician recommended starting you a bit early. Apparently this is commonly done with babies who are at the big end of the size spectrum (you are), are waking often at night to eat (god knows you are), or seem to "want" food. I explained to the pediatrician that I was going to wait until you seemed to "want" food, and went home thinking I had dodged that bullet and it would be almost another 2 months before I had to think about it. Then, I realized that you never sit with us at the table. You never sit in my lap while I eat. How would we know? So, we set up your high chair so you could sit with us at the table, and I began letting you be closer to my meals. Well, let it be known that in the past 2 days you have attempted to eat my chicken nuggets AND my pancakes. You also watch each bite we take as it travels from plate to mouth with big, begging eyes like a family pet. So much for putting that off! In the next couple of days, I think I'll be picking up some baby spoons and organic rice cereal, and we'll see what happens. If you aren't ready, we will just wait a few more weeks. But I'm not holding my breath on that last one.

Now that the weather is nicer, I'm looking forward to taking you outside for more activities! In fact, why am I spending a warm Sunday writing to you when you'e just a couch cushion away, grunting loudly at your father from your Bumbo seat? You will only be 4 months and 13 days old for today. Just today. Tomorrow, well, we'll deal with that when it comes. And hopefully we'll remember to take pictures.