Dear Jack,

Today you are four months old. Already? Already. Everything has accelerated, just the way every veteran parent told us it would, but in a way no one can really understand until they’re in it, watching their little sleeping bundle suddenly start drooling, outgrowing clothes, and getting a sense of humor. The time really is flying, and when I rock you to sleep I try to soak in every bit of those sweet, fleeting moments. Your smell, the weight of you in my arms, the staccato breathing of your dreams. I pray I don’t forget.

Everything you touch makes it into your mouth somehow. As your cousin put it the other day, “If you put your hand near him, you get a bath!” You’re soaking your onesies and bibs right through. This new way for you to experience the world is good training for your mama, keeping me on my toes and training my eyes for all those little things you maybe shouldn’t have in your mouth. I don’t feel any teeth trying to crest just yet, but you’re on your way, it seems. We play a game where I wipe your mouth and chin with a burp cloth and you responded by squirting.

Your hair is starting to lie down a bit but it still sticks out on the sides above your ears. My little Bozo. You’re giggling and gurgling more and more and you’ve developed this coy little smile to throw at little girls and old ladies. Flirt! You’re still loud at almost all times. You love to audibly yawn and sigh and then look at me to make sure I saw. You “walk” up my belly and chest when I hold you upright, and you’ve decided that tummy time is for the birds. As soon as I lay you on your tummy to play, you immediately turn onto your back. Pretty tricky, little man. You will stay on your tummy a little bit longer if I put a little mirror up. You love to see your reflection and mine in the bathroom mirror, grinning from ear to ear and then bashfully burying your head in my neck. You’re rolling pretty regularly from tummy to back and only a few times from back to tummy. You like sitting up in my lap and you try to pull yourself up in the bathtub. Any day now.

You’re in your 9-12 month clothes now and everyone who sees you remarks at your size. You’re dense, like a medicine ball – solid. You may be big, but you’re my little guy. You love to be outside in the beautiful fall weather. We sit out back on the glider and look at the trees, or rock on the front porch when Daddy is on his way home. You love to look around at the sky when I’m hanging laundry on the line. I fear you take after your mama when it comes to sleep. You’re a catnapper and an early riser for now. I hope you learn to sleep longer and better than I ever have.

Like a little orangutan, you are starting to hold onto me when I’m holding you. You’re becoming a hip baby. The feeling of your little hand grasping the back of my arm – ah! I swallow hard to keep from crying. The joy of it is almost too much. I’m holding you, and you’re holding me.

Not letting go,

Your loving Mama

p.s. Your Dad loves you, too.