Making Up For Lost Time05.07.2011
I’m sorry that I haven’t written to you in a while. Well, it’s been more than a while, really – more like half of your life so far. Daddy promises to do better in the future. How about I try to write a letter to you every weekend?
These past six weeks have been amazing. You have transitioned from an intriguing, but docile ball of cuteness wrapped in a blanket to an engaging and interactive, yet incredibly tiny person. When you look up at me with your dark brown eyes, it’s very apparent that you know who your Daddy is, and that you’re very happy to see him.
It’s clear that you have become a lot more aware of your surroundings. You’ve started reaching out and wanting to touch things. When I’m feeding you with the bottle, you hold my hands so I don’t take the bottle away and occasionally grab my fingers with a Baby-Deathgrip that Spock could learn a thing or two from. And we have this multi-coloured ball hanging above your crib which you find batting around with your hand endlessly entertaining. You still haven’t really learned how to control your arms yet, though, so for a while your Mom and I weren’t sure if you were doing it on purpose or accidentally hitting it while flailing. You flail a lot. And you regularly whack yourself in the face, which is really funny.
It’s very cool to watch you discover the world around you, and I can’t wait until you can start exploring it for yourself. Although I dread the moment that you discover that breaking things is fun.
And I’m not sure what you have against your mother, but it seems that the only way that you’ll fall asleep these days is if Daddy is holding and rocking you. Mommy can try for hours, but you spend five minutes in the rocking chair with me and you’re sleeping as soundly as if I had just made you watch fifteen hours of televised Golf. I know that you don’t know what that is yet, but trust me, it will put you to sleep like nothing else can – it certainly works for me.
Since I last wrote, you have turned from a all-night party baby to a kid who, once we get you to sleep, doesn’t wake up again until Daddy’s alarm clock goes off – and sometimes not even then. You’ve become a champion sleeper at night, suddenly. I’m not sure what happened, but I’m sure it has something to do with the whisky that I’ve been slipping into your bottle at night.
Just kidding about that; I’m not going to resort to whisky until you start teething.
You’ve also developed the most adorable smile ever. It’s a smile that does not end at your lips, it’s a whole body smile that makes you squirm and squiggle like a tiny, dancing Bill Cosby, and it absolutely melts my heart every time that you do it. And you do it a lot and with very little provocation, so there is a lot of melted heart residue to scrape off the carpet.