a bathtub full of baby

My mom was sure that Jack would be able to bathe in her bathroom sink on our recent visit. Jack, on the other hand, felt that it was all a little bit undignified. The rather cramped bath ended abruptly when he pulled at the faucet and got a surprise spray of cold water. (We're really learning a lot of lessons about what we need to keep out of little man's reach now.)

Tears before bedtime, indeed.

ducky, you're the one...

you make bathtime lots of fun.
oh, i'm awfully fond of you.

boy, boy crazy boy...

Jack is up to new tricks.

the big transformation

four months
17 lbs, 2 oz and 24 inches
90th (!) percentile for weight
25th percentile for height

This gorgeous guy had his four month well baby check up today and it was boys only as Daddy took little bitsy to the doctor all by himself. (I wonder if we can still call him little bitsy after this weigh-in.) While I was sorry to miss the appointment, I wasn't sorry to miss the round of shots. It hurts my heart to think about those.

For those who are counting, Jack is up about 5 pounds since his 2 month appointment and has grown a whopping fourth of an inch. So at 2 months he was tall and skinny like Daddy and now he's short and fat like me! The truth is I find this growth reassuring. He's definitely getting enough of what he needs to thrive.

We're going to wait a little while longer for solids, given that he seems to be getting plenty of calories.

In fact, one might even call him:

jumping for the vertically challenged

My dad grew up in a small town. My mom grew up in a really big city, the kind that eats small towns for lunch. I was born in that same monstrous metroplex. This accident of birth may explain why my mom and I love sprawling malls and chlorinated pools. Meanwhile, my dad sort of secretly believes that the whole world knows that he is Roseby Wright's son and therefore should be afforded certain rights and privileges--the last room at a packed hotel, the freedom to pause rather than stop at an intersection. It's an attitude that amounts to: "civis campbellsvillus sum."

When I was a little girl, we spent at least a week each summer in Dad's hometown. We ate gigantic tomatoes and went calling on people and hugged on teeny-tiny great-aunts. I had a matching pair of them--Mae and Bootsie. They were my grandfather's older sisters and though they were in their seventies by the time I was born, they always seemed like perfect playmates. This was in part because of their propensity to get the giggles and in part because they were about my size. My grandfather, all 5'6'' of him, towered over them.

What can I say? We Wrights are a short people. So it should come as no surprise that once, we were sitting down to a meal at my grandparents' table and I wasn't really able to reach my plate properly. I needed a booster seat, but this was the 80s and people didn't have such things in their own homes. They didn't have bouncy seats either. It was the dark ages.

When my mother asked if we could use the phone book (a tried and true substitute in the big city) my grandparents looked baffled. Mom repeated the request until they acquiesced. The county phone book was about as wide as a standard bible and not a whole inch thick. Cue the giggles.

Jack has just about reached the age where he can start enjoying some slightly more "active" toys. He's just shy of four months and definitely more alert every day. He also reaches for things constantly and sometimes control his hands enough to grab and object and inevitably put it in his mouth.

One of my major sources of mother guilt is that when I am at work, we are always together and I get the chance to cuddle him and nurse him, but we don't do a lot of serious play. I think he gets bored by the end of the day and I know he gets tired of moving from one reclining position to another. So last night when we got home, we pulled out the jumperoo to give it a try and found a familiar problem. (Note the distance between feet and floor.)

Lucky for us, we remembered a familiar solution. It's just a good thing that our city is growing so fast!

the incredible journey

"who me, center of attention? i don't know what you're talking about!"

We made our first trip to Corpus Christi to Bibi and Grandaddy's house for Easter. While Jack is a good traveler and a veteran of I-35 S, having made many trips to San Antonio, this trip was twice as long and we had to leave on a schedule that had little to do with Jack's sleep habits and a lot to do with Daddy's work day.

Our strategy was simple: feed Jack loads and hope he sleeps. He is a fairly obliging boy and so he did all of the eating and *most* of the desired sleeping. Still, we didn't get in until almost 10. We found Nanny and Bibi waiting with baited breath and Grandaddy still working.

Jack, bolstered by a nice long nap in the car and by an adoring audience, turned on the charm and enjoyed hanging out with the grands for more than an hour. He smiled. He drooled. He did everything he could to keep us all at the table so that he wouldn't have to go to bed. He is his mother's son.

And for his final trick (and to wear him out) we put him on the table so that he could show Nanny and Bibi how he can inch himself forward by shear force of will, a few growls and grunts, and the heaviness of that sweet big head. He moved a whole foot before we knew it.

I'm looking forward to many years of cheering him on.

move over, chas tenenbaum...

We had an unexpected cold snap this weekend. So it was time to break out the matching puma tracksuits. (Jack's was a gift from my friend Katie. She said it reminded her of Richard for some reason. I couldn't figure it out but when I brought it home from the shower and mentioned it to Rich, he immediately said, "oh it's so cool. like The Royal Tenenbaums." Richard got his matching tracksuit for Valentine's Day.)

We were the ONLY people on the Hike and Bike Trail. It seemed pretty nippy, but Jack fell asleep right away and so we persevered so that he could have a full nap. Turns out that the windchill was in the 20s. Oops.

Jack: "i didn't think things would get all matchy-matchy until i had a sibling!"

bumbling along

sitting up is overrated.

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

rub a dub dub.

one sad boy in the tub:

not the hair, daddy. don't touch the hair.

i think i'll make my escape now, amphibian-style.

the many faces of j.p. stafford.

it's true

boys really can "go" anywhere.

play that funky music, white boy.

baby's blues are navy blue.

"Seriously Daddy, I promise they're blue. Take another look."