Saturday, February 27, 2010

Love Letter.

Dear Alec John,
You turned five months old this week, and the time has gone by since you were born so quickly that we almost missed it. You are a happy, funny, unendingly pleasant little boy who is built so solidly- you are wide and long and dense feeling- it is fun to imagine how big and tall you will be in about 15 years.

You are a fully integrated part of the family by now; the newness of you has worn off on your sisters and of course no one can imagine life before you. I can now only measure time in the last decade by who I was pregnant with, who was I nursing, who was just-born. You were the best idea I ever had. I felt your little spirit for years before we had you, pushing on my heart, asking to join our family. I feel like someone is trying to come in, I told Daddy. We need to make room for this little person to be with us. And thankfully Daddy thought it would be a good idea, too, and now, a year and a few months later, here we are, all thoroughly in love with you.

And you are in love with us. You know me as your primary go-to gal and whimper quite plaintively if I put you down. You love to be held and cuddled and loved up, and if you are the least bit tired, you close your eyes anytime I kiss your forehead. You are the cuddliest of our three babies: Jenna only wanted to be near my boob, and Michaela was born with her legendary personal boundaries, and you are so fun to kiss and hug because you laugh and smile and try so hard to kiss us back. You love to use my hair as handles and while I fret that you are pulling my hair out strand by strand, I love your wish to be close to me.

You have started all kinds of things in the last few weeks: solid food, which you were not sure of at first; trying to sit up; and reaching for anything- anything- that is in front of you. You can now suck down a whole container of baby food in a sitting, and though you open your mouth eagerly for each bite, when the food actually gets in your mouth you make the greatest face of displeasure and uncertainty that makes you look exactly like Daddy. You are strong and solid and muscular, it seems, and you are always trying to sit up like a big boy. In fact, that is what people most comment on: your strength. From the nurses on the day you were born to the most casual observer, everyone sees your smile and your strength and is amazed.

Your newest way of interacting with the world is to reach for it and grab it- anything and everything gets wrapped by your little man hands and pulled towards your mouth. Toys, the computer, food, pens, hair- anything is fair game and worth investigating. And tasting.

Your favorite activity of the day is playing on the floor with Jenna and I, getting tickled and kissed and loved up and sung to and talked to. A close second-favorite is riding in your backpack on my back. The backpack was an item we registered for when we were pregnant with Michaela, and somehow thought we would take her hiking, which is especially funny because we've never even gone hiking in our 14 years together. Michaela tolerated the backpack, Jenna abhorred it, and you absolutely love it: being high, being part of the action, being in motion, being close to me, and you squeal and jump with happiness if we happen to pass a mirror and you catch a glimpse of yourself and me.

Overall, my dear boy, you are what is commonly called a good baby. You are easy to love, quick to smile, and easy to comfort when you cry. You make people feel good. You are flexible and laid back and tolerate a whole lot of everything from everyone. This may not seem like a big deal, but compared to one of your sisters, who will remain nameless, who stared people down instead of smiling, tolerated nothing from no one and almost drove me crazy- and not in an funny, exasperated way, more like needing-medication kind of way- you are a dream come true. So when people at a store or at church or at a party ask me, "Is he a good baby?" I glow with pride when I can answer, "Yes, yes, he is. He's a great baby." And everyone is happy and smiley.

Just like you.

Keep growing. Keep loving. And always, always know how much we adore you.


Anonymous said...

I'm not even Alec reading this and I feel like crying! What a beautiful letter to your boy! He clearly adores you and the feeling is mutual. Love, Gammie

Anonymous said...

I join the hordes who Alec makes "happy and smiley", and I only know him through your wonderful blogs. This one is particularly this over and over when he's a pain-in-the-neck teenager! Love, LW