Two months

Dear Truett,

I was just going to update the internet on how your two month doctor's appointment went (WELL! SO THERE GROCERY STORE WOMENS!) when at the last minute my fingers typed, "Dear Truett," So here we are. Another letter.

You are now 9 pounds and 10 ounces. You've gained more than two pounds since your birth weight and nearly two inches in length. The doctor said you are on the small side for weight, tall side for height. A ratio I would not mind myself. He said you are doing very well and your head is also increasing in size. He probably meant literally, but I also whisper quite a few compliments in your ear daily so, eh, it could be he meant your ego. So be it. I'd love for you to have all the confidence in the world.

But please do not confuse confidence with arrogance.

This month we have seen a huge change in your ability to communicate and you have also fallen in love with the ceiling fan in our room. Don't ask me. But our bed is where I usually change you - especially when you have squirted poop onto your changing table cover - during the day and you grin at that fan like it sent you roses twice last week. Try playing a LITTLE hard to get. Sheesh.

You also grin and coo and kind of do this little squeaky squawk and I LOVE IT. LOVE IT. I want you to squawk at me all the time. Why? I don't know but it creates this ripple effect of smiles. If someone hid a video camera in our bedroom? Well, first of all that would be exceptionally creepy, but more than that they'd be highly disappointed. I look at you, you squawk, I smile in this bursting-out-of-my-skin way. Not so much sexy as goofy but if you're looking for a pick me up, BUY THAT VIDEO. 

You have also turned that corner where your skin is smooth and plump rather than the reddish, wrinkly deal when you were first born. It is intoxicating and when I am not smiling like a loon into your face, I am burying my nose in your neck and breathing heavily. You smell so good. SO GOOD. I mean, like in this bizarre biological way and I cannot get enough. You usually oblige me. 

You still sleep in our bed and though one of my biggest worries these days is how and when we are going to transition you into your crib full-time, I have come to a place where I love sleeping next to you. A few nights ago you woke me with your squirming, or smacking, or just general need to MOVE CONSTANTLY and I was hit with this powerful feeling of love for you. I can't write that in a more creative way, even though it's a terribly overused sentiment. I laid next to you, cuddling your warm little sweet smelling body and felt a physical happiness at your existence. I'm sorry, but there is no other way to put these things these days.

AND YOU SMELL SO GOOD.

Comments

[leslie]

Hope,
I know that sweet smell you are talking about, and embrace it forever because in a few years that smell fades away..... I miss that smell of my little one!!!! I enjoy the blog form day to day, makes my day sometimes feel as it had a purpose...lol!!!!
Leslie
(from Dr.Curry's Office)

[Hope Sypert]

I've always thought babies smelled sweet but maaaan, when it's your own? Wow.

Hopefully next time I bring Truett by the office he won't be such a crank!