Dear Leaf,
Today you are four months old. You're lucky I haven't eaten you yet, because you are just so delicious.
There is just something about you, something so peaceful. You are the calm in my day. You hardly ever cry. You gaze at me adoringly and talk to me so gently. What else could I want in a constant companion? After the older kids are in bed we sit and have babble fests, you telling me all about your life and your deep, deep thoughts.
You're still pretty noisy when you nurse, although it has become a little better. One thing you've added though is a "yell" as soon as you realize that you are in position: it's time to nurse. Num nums! you yell. AH AH AH AH and so on until you finally stop yelling about it and latch on. This is the time of life that I remember with your brother and sister as well, the time when the passionate nurser emerges. Passionate is the only word, really, to describe it. It's the look in your eye, your frantic approach. You want warm milk. You just love nursing. You love your life, which consists of nursing and smiling and drooling and sleeping.
About your drool: I've never seen anything like it. I've never before known a person who can drool in a steady stream for ten minutes, until the whole front of his shirt is wet and sticking to him. We have to be careful about lifting you above our heads because of the drool bombs. It's a minor flaw, though, swallowed in what is mostly perfection. Don't worry about it, if it doesn't stop when you're old enough to be embarrassed we'll take you to a specialist or something.
You are getting to be a big boy. An older baby. You can stand up when we pull you up and hold your hands; you look as though you are so proud of yourself. You roll from your stomach to your back with ease, you try to sit up in a gigantic crunch, and you love to be thrown into the air. Your laugh is delightfully squeaky. You love to sing, croaking along in a deep voice whenever anyone else is singing, but especially your daddy.
You love your brother and sister and have started to turn to watch them when you hear their voices. I'm surprised that you are so tolerant of them, since they start off gently talking to you and gradually grow crazier and crazier until I have to place them on the opposite side of the room. The other day I turned my back for a second and when I turned back around Kai had you folded in half like a pretzel, with your feet up past your head. You were smiling away adoringly. I think you were thinking of the day in the future that you will be able to fold him into a pretzel. You were thinking, "My day will come. My day will come."
There is just something about you, something so peaceful. You are the calm in my day. You hardly ever cry. You gaze at me adoringly and talk to me so gently. What else could I want in a constant companion? After the older kids are in bed we sit and have babble fests, you telling me all about your life and your deep, deep thoughts.
You're still pretty noisy when you nurse, although it has become a little better. One thing you've added though is a "yell" as soon as you realize that you are in position: it's time to nurse. Num nums! you yell. AH AH AH AH and so on until you finally stop yelling about it and latch on. This is the time of life that I remember with your brother and sister as well, the time when the passionate nurser emerges. Passionate is the only word, really, to describe it. It's the look in your eye, your frantic approach. You want warm milk. You just love nursing. You love your life, which consists of nursing and smiling and drooling and sleeping.
About your drool: I've never seen anything like it. I've never before known a person who can drool in a steady stream for ten minutes, until the whole front of his shirt is wet and sticking to him. We have to be careful about lifting you above our heads because of the drool bombs. It's a minor flaw, though, swallowed in what is mostly perfection. Don't worry about it, if it doesn't stop when you're old enough to be embarrassed we'll take you to a specialist or something.
You are getting to be a big boy. An older baby. You can stand up when we pull you up and hold your hands; you look as though you are so proud of yourself. You roll from your stomach to your back with ease, you try to sit up in a gigantic crunch, and you love to be thrown into the air. Your laugh is delightfully squeaky. You love to sing, croaking along in a deep voice whenever anyone else is singing, but especially your daddy.
You love your brother and sister and have started to turn to watch them when you hear their voices. I'm surprised that you are so tolerant of them, since they start off gently talking to you and gradually grow crazier and crazier until I have to place them on the opposite side of the room. The other day I turned my back for a second and when I turned back around Kai had you folded in half like a pretzel, with your feet up past your head. You were smiling away adoringly. I think you were thinking of the day in the future that you will be able to fold him into a pretzel. You were thinking, "My day will come. My day will come."