(I know some of you are Dooce readers and have already commented that the format of these monthly letters was stolen directly from her site, and to you, I say, “Damn Skippy!!” I think they're a wonderful idea, something that Griffin will treasure later in life (or need therapy for) and I have no problem stealing the idea. Plagiarism is the sincerest form of flattery...or something like that! Plus Dooce is a Stay At Home Mom, making a living off her blog about her cute kid, strange dog, and quirky husband...if only I could be so lucky!)
The second month of your wee life has been most rewarding for Mommy and Daddy. It took us about 6 weeks to figure you out, but I think we're getting the hang of it. We've begun to figure out your cues, and you've begun to be a little more clear about them! And now the smiles are coming more and more often, often as a direct result of something we say or do. Not just gas anymore! Along with the smiles come gurgles, giggles, coos, and some serious love in your eyes, usually directed right at our smiling faces. Sometimes directed at my boobs, but mostly to our face!
The last few days we've enjoyed watching you figure out that you have hands. Hands that are attached to arms, that attach to your body, that can be controlled, albeit somewhat randomly, by you. The other day I watched you look at your hand, and compute that you wanted it in your mouth. And then I watched you rhythmically and repeatedly punch yourself in the face, missing your mouth by an inch or so, giggling to myself the entire time. Is that cruel? Fine motor skills come next we hope.
We've crossed a few milestones this month – a First Thanksgiving, First Halloween, and much to Mommy's dismay, first time On Stage. Daddy had to go out for a bow on his opening night and since Mommy was watching the show, Daddy selfishly carried you out on stage with him, only so that the audience would be distracted by the cuteness that is you, and forget to look at him, because he hates being in the bright lights just about as much as I do. There was also no one there to hold you, and putting you down on the props table, or handing you to some strange and likely smelly IA boy would have been cruel. You stared out at the audience and up at the lights in awe and wonder, while I sat in the audience fearing for your future! After the show you fell into a contented sleep, like you were right with the world. Scary.
Your former Pukemeister title has been revoked as the puking has progressed to minor spitting, and been replaced by the title of Poopmeister. You've done some impressive work this month my son, and on more than one occasion have you ended up with one of those amazing up the entire back, change the whole outfit poops. Impressive. My Laundry Queen title still stands as a result, and most of your outfits now have stains on them in the small of your back. We'll keep a few to show your girlfriends when you're older.
You are growing out of clothes faster than we can get them, and I do believe you're going to be a giant. A strapping young country lad, which is good, because I think around these parts they take wimpy little boys and feed them to Hockey teams.
Last night, for the very first time, you slept for a 7 hour stretch. It was glorious I tell you, and I'm sad that your Daddy wasn't here to enjoy it with us. We sincerely hope you enjoyed it too, and encourage you to keep up the good work.
You've become more of a person this month, with his own little personality, and less of a flailing wailing baby. It's been most rewarding to watch you emerge. I feel like a much better parent than I did last month, now that we have sort of figured each other out and begun to enjoy each other. We look forward to you continuing to emerge from that chubby little body, and continuing to charm the pants off of everyone you meet. Staring at you has even caused one of the most hard assed, controlled (and maybe controlling) women I know to start spouting off about God. You have a power, my son. Use it wisely!