It is beyond my comprehension how you have been home with us for one month. I don’t even feel like I’ve been home that long, much less you.
It’s clear that you’re a growing boy. Your ears look bigger, your feet look bigger, your lashes even look thicker! (Let’s hope you get your dad’s lashes.)
I’m told that you’re a strong boy, quite intent at lifting your head with your determined little neck. When you’re chillin’ on your belly, you’ve gotten good at lifting your head and placing it to the left and to the right. Rock on.
There’s a *chance* that you might have developed my woe-is-me, dramatic fussiness. I’m not always that way; but, then again, neither are you. That said, I have a sneaky feeling that we both know when we’re full of it. I love figuring you out. Love. It.
Your dad and I care so much for you. I wish that years from now you could remember him twirling and dancing with you in the living room. He makes up songs and sings them to you, too. (They always get stuck in my head.)
There’s a lot more that I could say, but – let’s face it – I’m sleep deprived. All you need to know for now is that we’re so glad you’re here.