Dear Chris,
Today you are two months old, congratulations! The cat hasn’t managed to have you rubbed out. Yet. You’ve settled into our family groove surprisingly easily. You have a very relaxed and easygoing way about you. I think it’s all the Reggae that I listened to in the last bit of my pregnancy (which lasted forever, by the way. You’ll hear about this again and again on your birthdays, so be ready to apologize.)
You showed up two weeks late, son, which speaks to your father’s sense of punctuality. You also inherited your father’s eyes, for which I’m glad. The only things that I prayed for with you and your sister was that you two be both healthy and have your father’s blue eyes. My eyes are sometimes-blue-sometimes-green; they’re non-committal and ordinary. Your father’s eyes, though, are the most beautiful, deep blue eyes I’ve ever seen. They look like clear, tropical ocean water running over smooth pebbles. I love staring into them, and to know that you have his eyes makes me pleased, because I know that someone else will love staring into them when you grow up.
But I’m jumping ahead of things a bit, aren’t I?
It’s been an adjustment having a baby boy around the house. Without being vulgar, it makes for some interesting Google searches on my computer: “Cleaning urine from walls” and “Cleaning urine from toothbrushes” to name but two. I didn’t realize that you wanted to begin target practice before your eyes could see further than a foot. I set you in a bath basin on the bathroom counter, and before I realized what was going on, you had already peed across the counter and onto our toothbrushes. Good show, little man. Your aim is already better than mine, and you haven’t even learned to throw yet.
You like playing what’s become known as the beep game. Your father and I lean in and touch our noses to yours, and it excites you. You jerk your arms and your legs and start panting. If you had a tail, you’d wag it, I’m sure. It’s the simple pleasures in life that are the most satisfying, I think: there’s nothing better than the smell of a rainstorm, summer popsicles, the crinkle of Christmas wrap, and dad’s nose on yours.
The arm-jerking happens at night, too. We try to get you settled down, but your arms and legs start jerking and won’t let you relax. There have been a few times when you settle down for a nap, but the Jimmy Arms start flailing and smack you in the face. We manage to contain the Jimmies by swaddling you tightly, but it’s only a matter of time before your arms ninja their way out of the blanket to strike again.
We’re so over-the-moon in love with you, little man. Your father and I couldn’t be happier to have you here. Your sister will come around eventually, don’t worry. You’re stuck with us, pal. I hope that you like it here.
Love,
Mama