Four Months Old!

Dear Baby G,

It was only one year ago that I found out I was pregnant with you.  One year ago that I stared at a little blue line and started to dream up the details of who you would be.

And now at four months old, it’s clear to everyone that…

You’re cute.  And I feel comfortable openly admiring how cute you are because you look nothing like me, so I’m not at risk for taking undue credit.  I know all mommies think their babies are cute, so you probably don’t believe me.  But really, you’re adorable and it’s not just me who says this, so therefore it must be true.

You’re fun now.  I don’t mean to hurt your feelings, but for your first three months, you weren’t that fun.  You kind of just laid there and stared or cried or pooped.  But now you can laugh and reach and grab. You can roll, sit, and stand (the last two with a little assistance).  You can actually interact with us and appreciate the terrible songs we make up for you.  Your favorite thus far is Daddy’s “Poopy Diaper Song.”  You have him so convinced that babies everywhere will delight in his brilliant lyrics that he has contemplated applying for a copyright:

It’s the poopy diaper song,

We’ll see what’s going on,

I’ll wipe your butt,

And clean you up,

It’s the poopy diaper song.

…deep, eh?

You’re smart.  In fact, your growth this month is actually quite unbelievable.  It’s not even every day that I have seen you develop; sometimes it is every hour.  You do things in the evening that you could not do that morning.

You’re serious.  As you grow and learn, it is taking more and more clever tricks to keep you entertained.  Finding something that makes you laugh is akin to getting our crazy dogs to stop trying to lick your feet: it is quite the accomplishment.  I’ll stand on my head, sing a song, and do a dance, and you’ll give me a courtesy giggle.  Then, impressed with my own ingenuity, I’ll do it a second time, only to be met with a look that seems to say, That no longer amuses me, Mother.  Get some new material.

You’re creative.  You rarely cry, in the true sense of the word.  Crying is for babies, which you have no interest in remaining.  Instead you experiment with the abundance of noises you can make, which range from screeching (we lovingly call this your baby pterodactyl sound) to an Oscar-worthy stage cry that comes to a halt the second we pick you up.  Your daddy says you are preparing for a career in Hollywood.  I like to think it is practice for your speeches as President.

Either way, it’s clear that great things are ahead for you.  So you can credit dear old dad for your good looks, but you should know that your mama was the one who believed in your potential long before you were four months old.  It all started with a little blue line.

Love, Mommy.