three's a treat!

Dear Jack--

I checked the calendar today and realized that the 11th has rolled around (and quickly) again. You are three wonderful, chubby, cheerful months old and, though there is not much left of the newborn left in you--even your feet look smaller as your legs have gotten fatter and longer around them--it is hard to be sad when it clear that you are a boy with lots of joy.

Your smiles break in waves and I know several people who compete to see how long they can keep you grinning. If you could talk, I think you would say that your poor cheeks hurt sometimes. Bibi and Grandaddy told me that I didn't even start to smile until I was your age and now Daddy says about once a day, "man, it must have been tough to have a serious baby." It's true. Your gummy grins reassure us that you kind of like living with us. Good thing, huh? I mean, you're growing up fast, but not that fast.

Other people have commented that you seem to have more hair. I'm not so sure. Maybe you lost a little and gained a little, but I think you've come out about even in the end. It does seem to be decidedly auburn at the moment. Daddy can't believe it and wonders where that comes from. Silly Daddy.

We really don't know who you look most like. You've got my hair and Daddy's lips and Aunt Lizzie's eyes and Uncle Theo's whole--what's the word--visage. But really you are your own little man and I suspect that someday when we look back at pictures of you, we'll wonder less about who you look like and think that you look most like...you.


Your little personality is starting to develop. When you're at the office with me, you are pretty patient and able to entertain yourself for short periods of time. I can put you on the playmat in front of a window and you'll kick and grab at your toys for at least twenty minutes before you realize that I'm not standing over you. Once you figure it out though, nothing will solve your tears but a cuddle. You follow people around the room with your eyes and seem to recognize several voices, but you STILL HAVEN'T FIGURED OUT THAT YOU WON'T DIE JUST BECAUSE THE BOTTLE IS NOW EMPTY. You don't nap well at the office because you don't like to miss out on the action. During the weekend, you sometimes make up for it with marathon naps. I guess Daddy and I just aren't entertaining enough to keep you up.


Bathtime is less of struggle. So is mealtime for the most part. You still go down pretty easily at night. But you have started to HATE the car seat. We don't go anywhere that you don't cry for at least the first ten minutes. The guy who operates our local Starbuck's drive-thru thinks I am a terrible mother because he only sees you when you are in full meltdown mode. You are even beginning to stiffen your legs when I try to put you in the seat so that I can't get you in it very easily.

If you are stubborn at three months, I shudder to think what three years will look like.

Actually, you are also just very physical. You don't like to be held like a baby unless you are eating. Otherwise, you'd prefer to be "standing" on a lap or being held kind of like a football. You do this great thing when you are standing where you kind of paw the ground with one foot--like stomp, stomp. stomp, stomp. Such a cute little pony boy. But I think we're going to have to bolt down the furniture in a couple of months because you've got the strong legs of a climber and the will to do it.

When it comes down to it though, Daddy and I think you are about the sweetest, funniest, cuddliest, cutie-est, most gorgeous boy we could have ever hoped for and even though we used to go out to the movies and wear clothes without poop on them, we wouldn't trade anything for these last three months.

love you always and always,
mommy