09.08.08 :: 8:05 am


You were so poorly cast as a malcontentÖ

Dear Oliver,

Today you turned 2 months old. Holy crap, kiddo. Can you believe youíve survived under our care for this long? Neither can we!
To celebrate, weíre getting you vaccinated! Good times.

Youíve really done a lot of changing this month. Compared to the first 3 weeks, youíre a whole different baby. And thatís a good thing because I didnít really like that other baby.

Youíre easing nicely into a routine, and youíre actually sleeping 6 hours a night! Thanks, dude! Youíve also changed physically. Sorry about the balding; I hear itís normal and also temporary. But your eyes are more expressive, youíre rounder and chubbier and youíre smiling and laughing at us on purpose and not just because youíve got poop shooting out your butt, which is indeed freaking hilar.

This month, you started drooling. Can we talk about this? Itís like all of a sudden a tap turned on in your mouth. And instead of swallowing, you smear it on whateverís handy. Back of the chair, my shoulders, the dog, whatever. I canít keep up with it or wipe it up fast enough. Youíve left your mark on everything in the house.

Despite your best efforts to prove otherwise this month, you are more often than not a really pleasant baby. You cuddle and coo and seem to realize Iím more than just a pair of tits (let this be a reminder to you in your future dealings with women). You even fall asleep on us every now and then which is heartwarming and awesome and probably really bad for your emotional development but right now I just donít care. Because when youíre this happy, I just want to keep doing whatever it is thatís keeping you that way. This will come back to haunt me, I know it, when Iíve let you roll around in mud for hours or given you permission to dye your hair sixteen shades of blue.

Speaking of happiness: the ear-splitting, life-denying, soul-injuring shrieking you did last month? Thanks for not making that a habit. I mean you still have a set of lungs on you, make no mistake. And when youíre riled and annoyed beyond belief at me, your dad, the dog, everything, life, etc., you are capable of rendering us deaf and suicidal. Us and the neighbors and the residents of the building next door.
But thanks for kind of sort of letting up on that. Iím glad you trust that I know when youíre hungry. And Iím glad that you donít get so frustrated when I leave a poop or pee in your diaper longer than twenty seconds. You know Iím on the case, and Iíd never abandon you in your filth and I appreciate that.

Weíve discovered you are enjoying night breezes and falling asleep outside. Not sure how this is going to work out when weíre back in New York during the winter. I guess we could always buy you a snowsuit and a tent.
Youíre also tolerating the Bjorn carrier a little better now that youíve got some head control as well. This happens to be my favorite thing right now. I used to think parents looked ridiculous toting their babies around like that with their feets all dangling around and looking like a giant sack of wobbly potatoes, but I canít even tell you how amazing it is to have the use of my hands back! I can actually, you know, DO STUFF as opposed to having my entire life come to a grinding halt for 20 hours out of every single day.

Oh the places weíll go.

Amazingly, this month you were able to take naps (several of them!) completely unwrapped and freed from the straitjacket cocoon we usually have to fashion for you in order to get you to sleep for more than two minutes. Iím no longer consumed by guilt that Iím stunting your growth or crippling you in some irreversible way.
And speaking of sleeping, youíre awake longer during the day now. I feel like I should be entertaining you more and reading to you more but you seem quite happy to sit in your swing and watch your little rainforest buddies lazily circle above your head and laughing.
Yeah, theyíre pretty ridiculous, I agree.

You are outgrowing all your newborn clothes and are fitting into your 3-month stuff quite snugly. Little man, you are HUGE. I canít carry you for very long anymore as my back is totally giving out under your weight. You have no idea how sad I am that you are no longer the tiny 7 pound bundle we brought home from the hospital. On the upside, Iím glad this bizarre breastfeeding thing is working out for you. I mean, how weird is that?? I stick my boob in your mouth and thatís how you eat and grow. Nonsense!

Everyone who meets you says you are a handsome little man and I can't help but agree. A fact is a fact. We can tell you're going to leave trails of broken hearts wherever you go. You take after your dad, and you look more and more like him every day.

Admittedly, I'm hoping you start picking up some of my characteristics, too, because I'm beginning to get paranoid that they switched babies on me. Your eyes, though... we think they're turning brown and I'm overjoyed.

Anyway. It's been a long month. I hear the worst is behind us in terms of the newborn colicky screaming and fussiness.
The gurgling and ooh-ooh-ooh/ahh-ahh-ahh'ing has begun! Here's to hoping your first word is "mama" or "prada" or "bourbon."

I donít even have words to tell you how happy youíve made me already and how you truthfully are the greatest thing that will ever have happened to me.

My tater, my batootle, my potatopants.

Love,
Mama

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