Month Two

Dear Henry,

Today marks your 63rd day on the planet. It is approximately 6:45 in the morning and you have just finished eating and already slipped back into a peaceful sleep. If the routine holds, you'll remain this way for another two to three hours before you wake again, hungry and happy to see me. Happier still to see da boobs, which so far have done the job of providing you with the nourishment you need to grow. And grow you have. Yesterday we took you to the doctor's for your two-month checkup. Your height is most impressive for such a little guy. You can thank your dad for that. You were a little trooper, hardly crying at all when the two nurses came in and simultaneously shot two vaccines in each of your still-not-quite-chubby thighs. Your first flavor, other than milk, was the cherry-flavored infant Tylenol we gave you to help with the pain. The choice of cherry seems odd for little humans who have yet to experience cherries but you accepted the new taste with a slight "what is this?" look on your face. And then you smiled and spit up a little.


You are starting to see your world more clearly. It is infinitely interesting to you, even distracting you from eating at times. Your emerging eyesight means we can play games that engage you so we've taken to breaking out the flashcards throughout the day. Holding these black and white cards above your head, we've introduced you to a variety of jungle animals, working on animal sounds to help advance your vocal range. "What's a parrot say?" <insert pause while we try to figure out what a parrot does indeed say> "Um, 'Polly want a cracker?'" You coo and say things like "Ah-goo," in response. And we encourage this trend, even as we know someday we'll regret ever teaching you the art of the spoken word. Like when you learn the magic of the word "why" and insist on asking it repeatedly to better understand the world around you. "The sky is blue." "Why?" "Because that is the color it is." "Why?" "Because that is the color God created for sky." "Why?" "Because it is the only color light enough to float."


You are also learning the art of grabbing. With your increasing ability to see comes this awareness of your limbs. You are beginning to realize you have hands and that they come with the power to grasp things. My hair and shirt are your usual targets as they are the most readily accessible. But you are also enjoying some of your toys on your own for the first time, like the odd ball that is comprised of empty circular holes in varying sizes. Your little fingers are easily hooked into the ball, and you can then bring it to your mouth to explore it the only other way you know how, through taste. You would very much like to suck on your thumb but an inability to control motor movements has kept this skill just beyond your reach. With assistance, we can get your thumb in prime sucking position and for the briefest of moments a flash of triumph crosses your face as the sucking reflex kicks in, and then your thumb is suddenly jerked free and thrown in another direction and you are disappointed. Luckily you are easily distracted.


You are changing at a rate that would be alarming if it weren't so normal. We're just trying to keep up. To keep up with you and the ever-growing mountain of laundry that has come into existence since you arrived. Someday I'll teach you how to do laundry, but it probably will only be the folding and putting away part of laundry as we can't afford to replace clothing were a mistake to be made placing one of your red socks in with the whites causing chaos. That's money better placed in a fund for your college tuition.

Love,
Mom