Today, you are two months old.
This means that I’ve been back to work for nearly a full month. I usually get to interact with you in the morning before I leave, and then we get our evenings together. I usually feed you a bottle before bedtime.
It’s not as much actual time as we had during the first month, but it’s turning out to be pretty special anyway, because you’re awake for so much more of it. These days, you keep your eyes open after eating (most of the time — sometimes you finish eating a pass out so hard that an air horn probably wouldn’t wake you).
Quick side note — I wonder if, by the time you read this, we’ll still have air horns, or if there’ll be an app for that. I also wonder if there’ll be apps, or if we’ll have moved on to something else entirely. If you have to Google “air horn” or “app,” what a different world it will be. And if you don’t know what it means to Google, then I’m guessing you may need information on robot overlords or the zombie apocalypse. Also, by now, if you haven’t noticed, a “quick” side note for me? Not so quick.
When you do stay awake, you like to look at things curiously. Your favorite things to watch are the ceiling fans, which are not turned on at this time of year in Indiana. The contrast of the dark fan blades against the white ceilings have you absolutely fascinated. I reached up and turned one slowly the other day, and I thought you were going to wiggle right out of my arm with excitement.
You look at me and your Mom a lot, too. Sometimes you act like you’re trying to talk to us, although you currently seem to be limited to vowels. You do get to use those vowels at a variety of pitches and volumes, though.
You like it when we read to you, especially Sandra Boynton books. I can’t wait until you’re able to really look at the pictures — but for now, we’re still having fun.
Our lives pretty much revolve around your schedule now. You’ve gained enough weight that we get to feed you on demand these days, and you take the word “demand” very literally. You go from sound asleep to screaming at the top of your lungs so quickly that sometimes your dear old Daddy is positively scrambling to get a bottle heated up (when it’s my turn to feed you) so that neither of our hearts break with sadness.
And, not to embarrass you here, but in the past month, our lives have increasingly become about your diaper output. How much, how often, what color… things I never really thought that I would have to consider are now crucially important clues to your overall well-being. It also tells us how much extra laundry we’re going to have to do. In the past week alone, you’ve dynamited onesies, sleepers, bassinet sheets, towels, Mommy and Daddy’s bed, some of our clothes… I’m on the verge of having your gastric system declared a deadly weapon.
We focus so much on you that we sometimes lose sight of what’s happening in the rest of the world. This year, we’re going to have Leap Year, the Summer Olympics, and a Presidential election. There are a lot of people who want to be President who really kind of scare me. When you get old enough to vote, be as informed as you can, but try not to get caught up in the emotion of it all. Stay practical, stay compassionate, stay true to your beliefs. Try to figure out what matters most to you and why, and vote for the candidate that is most likely to help those things along. Be prepared to be let down by a candidate after you vote for him or her; frankly, politics has a lot in common with your recent diapers. Results are partially expected, partially random, and generally unpleasant, and the ones who have to deal with it are not the ones who created the mess.
Enough of that. Back to you.
Your eyes look so much like your mother’s eyes. As if you needed another way to get me wrapped around your little finger.
You have lots of fantastic outfits that are fun to put on you. One of my favorites is a black outfit trimmed in pink that declares you a Rock Star.
You got to meet your Daddy’s parents last week; they drove all the way from Syracuse, New York to meet you. I know you don’t know what that means, but you’ll eventually visit Syracuse. (Try to ignore the grayness of the skies there. Someday you’ll be old enough to eat at Heid’s of Liverpool, and the skies won’t seem so bad.)
Finally, I can’t write you a letter like this without giving you a little advice. I gave you this before, and I’m sure I’ll give it again. Be who you are. This is much tougher to do than it sounds, because you have to figure out who you are, and everyone will be trying to tell you who you are. Even me and Mommy. And while you certainly should listen, you will eventually reach a point where only you will know for sure whether or not Mommy and Daddy are right. Regardless, we will love you no matter what. You can be sure of that.
I love you, Sage. Mommy and Daddy both do.