Month Three

Dear Henry,

In approximately four hours you will be three months old. As I type this, you are sleeping soundly by your pop, who is working on his laptop beside you. I wouldn't say we have a schedule per se but we have developed a new pattern that has you sleeping through the night around 85 percent of the time. It involves both parents, a swaddling blanket, and a darkened bedroom with a humidifier quietly piping mist into the air. Tonight you went to sleep before I put you in bed but on those nights when you need a little assistance, we swaddle you and you will look in your dad's direction and then in mine (I'm sitting on the couch) and then back to your dad, over to me, and so on in this manner until, sure that we aren't abandoning you, you yawn a few times and drift to sleep. Your dad has been known to try the Jedi mind trick to help you, "This is the sleep you're looking for."
The past thirty days have been every bit as exciting as they have been exhausting. You are becoming increasingly aware of your surroundings, often staying awake to look around when we take you outside for walks with Beauty the wonder dog. You brave the cold for a good ten to fifteen minutes before you go into what I like to call "cold coma" because you inevitably fall asleep and remain that way until we are back inside the condo where the temperature is more to your liking.
We recently hung a mobile above the changing station in our bathroom. You are quite taken with the yellow, green, blue, red, orange, and white fish with big eyeballs that gaze down at you. You stare intently back at them and then become a flurry of activity, waving your arms and legs and using baby-speak to tell them what's on your mind. One day I will tell you the story of the day we went with Aunt Megan and Cousin Amelia to get that mobile. How, when we were feeding the two of you in the upstairs cafeteria, I burped you and while you were on my shoulder pointed in another direction you let loose projectile vomit that hit the floor nearly a foot away from where we were sitting. Thankfully no merchandise was damaged. You are quite the authority on puking, my son. The stuff pours out of you in copious amounts. We were concerned enough to take you to the doctor, an ultrasound at Doernbecher's a day later showed us that you were nothing more than the average needs-to-barf baby. A rather foul tasting medicine was prescribed to help ease the pain you were experiencing. You get it every morning and night. It makes you scrunch up your face and make weird gagging sounds - I can't say I blame you, the stuff is gross - but it prevents you from damaging your esophagus so we happily administer it to you.
You have slept an entire night alone in your crib. You appeared well rested the next day but I was up and checking on you nearly every hour and got less sleep as a result than I do when you are in bed right next to us. At 3:41P.M. on 6 January 2008 we heard your first laughter. It was tinkly and cute and spontaneous and sweet. I want to make you laugh forever because I don't think I'll ever find a more perfect sound than that.

Love,
Mom