Two Months

Dear Andrew,

Today you are two months old. You are still so small. I run into a lot of people from day to day, and everyone says so. The moms of toddlers marvel that their children were ever such a little bundle. I marvel at how much you’ve grown.

You are smiling every day. I can’t get enough. And the best part is I don’t even have to do much to get those smiles out of you. Anytime you lie on your back looking up at me, provided you’re fed and dry, all I have to do is say, “Hello,” and you grin to melt a momma’s heart. Your daddy and brother are both thrilled by this month’s development of cheeky toothless grinning, fascinated by how you’re cooing and interacting with the people in your world.

You often still keep your hands up by your face, and you’ve occasionally enjoyed sucking vigorously on your fists. In fact, you seem to be able to get that fist to your mouth without too many detours these days. It used to get in the way nearly every time you would try to latch and nurse, I’d have to tell you over and over, “No, baby, that’s your hand,” when you’d miss the nipple and latch onto your own little knuckle getting more and more frustrated the hungrier you got. But now, you know a little better where you’re going, where that mouth needs to be. But those hands have discovered some other mischief.

During a diaper change, especially the nastiest poops, you now enjoy straightening out your arms down by your sides, strategically placing your little fingers right in the spot where they’ll encounter the best of the mess. Those hands are trouble, my friend. But even so, I’ll still let those little fingers curl around my own. I love how they flap in the air accompanied by your surprised eyes, and curl up into little fists up by your neck. Which still seems like it’s that comfort place from back in the womb, or on your way out of it.

The other day, we were heading home after working at the diaper store, and you would not stop screaming in the car. I knew you’d been fine when I strapped you into your car seat, but you were making this sound like you were being tortured. I got you home, got your wet diaper off, and it was like I’d flipped a switch. Suddenly you were smiling and almost laughing up at me from the changing table. I couldn’t believe all that was for a wet diaper. When today, I’m pretty sure you pooped on our way into work and didn’t even complain about it until about an hour into our shift. The infant mind/body connection is baffling, indeed.

When you cry, sometimes I’ll watch you for a minute before addressing the situation. Your face resembles your brother’s at that age more when you cry than any other time (even though a lot of people say you look so much like him now, when he was a baby, he looked different than you do as a baby). Sometimes, before you really start to wail, you’ll stick out your lower lip in this tiny little pout. And I’m so sorry, but I can’t help smiling when you do. It’s just so stinking cute with your big sad eyes and adorable little old man face I can’t even stand it.

But I know it doesn’t make me a bad mom, sitting with you as you cry. You know I always have your back. I’ll always feed you, hold you, diaper you, walk with you before it gets too bad, too hard, too much, too unbearable. I’m here for you. I’d much rather have your smiles. And eventually, your laughs. I can’t wait for the next way you’ll find to make my heart happy, but I can wait. I can enjoy your bobble head and air kicks and flapping arms and little dimpled smiles. I’ll savor these moments with you. Especially with so much else going on around us, I would be a fool not to stop and breathe for awhile here with you. While your head still smells like that.



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