A Letter to the Baby

Dear Neckless, Hairless, Toothless Wonder,

I can't believe you're already three months old! It's hard to believe that you're growing so fast--and so big.

You definitely have taken on more of a me look than your father's look. This is a positive because I'm not entirely sure that his look would translate to a girl very well.

You're always so happy and peaceful I sometimes forget you're around. Except for when you're hungry. Then everyone knows you're around. You always have a smile on your face, even in the morning when you've gone an unprecedented 11 hours between feedings. It's a "grin through the tears" kind of look, but I see that smile nonetheless.

So what if you look like a football player stuffed in a dress? You only have to wear one on Sunday. I won't make you wear one any other time unless you really want to. (Or I want you to wear one in a picture. Or you have to. Or there aren't any other clean clothes.) I'm sure Grandpa didn't mean it when he said that there wasn't much girl in you. I can't help that you have little hair and no neck. It's how you were made. I personally think it's kind of cute. It won't be so cute when you start Jr. High though, so we're hoping you're smart too.

I'm having g a hard time finding dresses that cover your bum. They don't make them long enough, so I'm apologizing in advance for all the pictures that will emerge of you with your bum hanging out of every dress. Again, maybe dresses aren't your thing.

It looks as though God just placed your head on top of your shoulders and called it good. There's a neck buried under those cheeks somewhere.

There's really no need to look so serious. We (kinda) know what we're doing. We've done it before and look how that turned out. Wait, scratch that. We are much older and wiser than we were with your brother. We have learned from our mistakes and will do much better this go round.

I see you eyeing that food and soon you'll realize that there is more to life than a warm bottle of formula every three hours. There are tastes and textures that will blow your mind. Not to mention chocolate. Chocolate is my reward for making it through the day. And for getting out of bed and brushing my teeth. And for showering and getting dressed. Chocolate is a good motivator. Many things will come to fruition because of chocolate.

You're very close to growing out of your car seat. In fact, you probably have by their guidelines, but we'll remain ignorant until you're at least sitting up. I can't really drag you places if you aren't sitting up on your own.

You will hate how tall you are until you graduate high school. You'll never like how big your feet are going to get. People will always comment on your red hair (assuming that hair does grow in at some point, otherwise they'll comment on your lack of hair) and tell you how they wish they had hair that color. You will just wish that you could tan. Just a little bit of color so that people aren't always shading their eyes when they see you walking down the street in shorts and a t-shirt. There will always be someone prettier/smaller/shorter/tanner/skinnier than you, even if I think you're the prettiest/skinniest/smartest/funniest. It's a lesson that would best be served if you learned it now. I know it's too much for your brain to comprehend at this point and you'll learn it in due time, but just know, it's been like that for eons of time and it will always be like that. It's a vicious cycle. And every girl, despite her popularity or her outward appearance of "having it all" has to have her turn in the ringer.

Nobody likes Jr. High. Just grit your teeth and get out of there as soon as possible. You'll look back at it, shake your head and wonder who's idea it was to stick all those hormonally charged, emotional wrecks in the same building.

Since you are only about 90 days old, I'll let you be a baby for a while longer. I don't want you to grow up too fast.

You fit so well into the family and it's hard to remember when you weren't with us. Except for Saturday mornings. I remember very clearly Saturday mornings before we had kids. But, I wouldn't trade you and your brother for all the pre-kids Saturday mornings in the world.