Can we talk about the growing? Holy baby behinds, the growing. Your legs must be taking all of the nutrients you're ingesting because I swear they get longer every single day. At 11 weeks, we switched you into six-month sleepers because your feet were about to explode out of the old ones.
The funny thing is, you're still small enough around to fit into newborn onsies. So the larger outfits have so much extra material in the middle that I invented a game to put it to good use. When you're laying on your back, I grab all of the fabric at your sides, gently lift up your butt while making an airplane noise and let you plop back to the floor. I call it the I'll Never Entirely Fit Into These Clothes game. And I'm not sure which one of us loves it more. Maybe me.
You also outgrew most of your swaddlers this month, which posed more than a major dilemma for your father and me. You see, the only time you sleep without being held is when you're wrapped up so tightly that your arms don't flail around and accidentally punch your face, causing you to wake up angrily, glaring at us, wondering who would be so rude as to hit you while you were napping.
The swaddlers, otherwise known as The Greatest Invention of All Time, velcro you into a straight line and allow you to wriggle and writhe in your sleep without your face paying any of the consequences. You're so cute when you're swaddled up. I call you a baby burrito. Your father calls it a straight jacket.
But your legs recently decided they didn't want to take orders from any strip of velcro, so you started kicking out of it. Then your arms followed suit. Now when we come into your room after a nap, we never know what portion of your body will have freed itself, leading to your first nickname -- Teeny Houdini.
Fortunately, they make bigger swaddlers.
I'm hoping they'll fit you until you're 18.
This month marked the end of my maternity leave, and I had to go back to work. I was so terrified of everything that could possibly go wrong that I spent the last few weeks worrying.
What I forgot to realize is that you are an incredibly easy-going baby. You take things as they come and tend to adapt very easily. Switching to bottles at night wasn't a big deal. I could practically hear you rolling your eyes at the non-momentousness of it all when I called from the office to make sure you weren't starving.
Fast forward a few years and I can see you getting on the school bus for the first time, shrugging your shoulders and sighing defiantly as I take your picture so many times that you can't see to find a seat.
Don't get me wrong, it's wonderful that you're thriving without me, and I realize that's the general idea behind parenting -- raising you to be a well-functioning, self-sufficient adult. But sometimes you're going to have to let me make a big deal out of even the smallest things. Okay? You drinking out of a bottle is A BIG DEAL.
I didn't think you could get more enjoyable to be around, but every month you prove me wrong. You're gabbing more, smiling more, making more eye contact and moving your limbs with much more accuracy and purpose.
The biggest improvement by far is your ability to occupy yourself for more than 30 seconds at a time. You are completely content to sit in one of your chairs and watch what's going on in the room. You follow us with your eyes and smile when we pass, making it almost completely impossible to get anything done, which is the purpose of setting you down in the first place. But when you smile, I can't help but stop and crouch down to gobble your cheeks.
It's a good thing you're not smothered in barbecue sauce because the bite marks would be tough to explain to a jury.
Your favorite place to be right now is in your swing. Parents of older children who see our contraption remark on the beauty of it being battery-powered. Then they explain how they used to have to turn a hand crank to get their swing to work, waking their baby up every time.
But even better is that your swing has six settings of increasing speed and two types of sound -- classical music and nature tones. We started you off at the "1" setting listening to waterfalls and crickets, but you quickly let us know that you prefer going faster. Much faster.
Pretty soon you were swooshing along to setting "6," or as we like to call it, "the speed of light," and that seems to suit you just fine. You like your swing fast, thank you very much. And crank up the Mozart.
You're so content to watch the living room woosh past that your father and I have memorized the order of the songs. There's the bridal song, then the tune that plays at the end of "Oceans 11" and a few new ones we hadn't heard until the swing became a permanent fixture in our lives.
The whole thing tells me that you're going to like roller coasters. Frankly I've never understood the desire to voluntarily make your heart palpitate like that, but your dad will be thrilled. One of the sole reasons he wanted to have kids was to be able to go to Disney World as an adult and not look like a creepy pedophile when he really just likes amusement parks.
And, don't worry about that "You Must Be This Tall To Enter This Ride" sign. At the rate you're growing, you'll be on Thunder Mountain by the time you're four.