You laugh like a real person. It seems absurd that you already know how to express humor and joy. Shocking that a sound I make would easily cross your lips. The few times I’ve heard you chuckle, it has stopped me in my tracks. I give you a wide-eyed look of awe. In return, you glance slyly at me. Then we both crack up.
And then you pull my hair.
You’re naturally talented at it. Somehow those little fingers weave an intricate pattern between the tiny hairs at the nape of my neck. It only takes you seconds to twist a fistful in your death grip. And braids? Were those a bad idea! Apparently you think braids are a climbing rope on your journey to the summit that is my head.
On the ground, you still enjoy rolling over and hold the record for fastest flip. One point three seconds exactly. It was a proud moment for us all. Though you have yet to sit up and stay up independently, you continue to try. Especially when you are on your changing table. Or when I’m trying to buckle you into your car seat.
With all the extra activities, you’ve had to keep your strength up. We’ve introduced you to sweet potatoes, pears, apples, and peas. Thankfully you are not allergic to peas like your daddy. However, you try your hardest to convince us that peas are not fit for human consumption. Your little mouth twists up in a grimace and you shudder as if the spoon contained the contents of a dumpster left sitting in the sun. We don’t allow you to be picky. Dumpster spoon or no, we can usually distract you with the airplane/racecar/rollercoaster game long enough to deliver the bite.
I treasure our moments even more now that I’m back at work. Weekdays from 8 until 4 you share your smiles with your babysitter, Donna.
Though you quickly allayed my fears of abandonment and amnesia, it hurts that someone else is in your heart. That someone else witnesses your newest feats of strength. That someone else holds you when you cry.
I’ll be honest. Parts of me are excited to do a job I love. To speak adult. And to challenge my creativity.
But, Dexter, those parts of me are still stamped with your name. I simply close my eyes, and there you are.
Happy Four Months.
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