Dear Harper: Month Two

Dear Harper,

It's hard to believe that you've been gracing us with your crying and pooing for a whole two months now. And it's even harder to believe how much changing and growing you've been doing. A few of the most beloved rompers have gotten too small — or, better said, you've gotten too long for them. You're now weighing in at 11.5 pounds and measuring 23 inches, which makes you almost two feet of baby. You've also been producing noticably less poo, an upside of your growing.

To mark your exact time of birth two months ago, on Dec. 20 at 3:33 a.m., your dog sister decided to empty the contents of her intestines on the bedroom floor this morning. Much to my delight, you had a late-night snack and went right back to sleep, despite Lilly's encore presentation of doggie diarrhea a few minutes later. Sleeping at night is something you do really well. And while I'm tired of explaining to people who ask if you sleep through the night that it is nutritionally impossible for you to consistently do so, I am wonderfully pleased at the five or six hours that we usually get to sleep. In one long piece.

You have recently discovered the deliciousness of your own hands and regularly stuff them into your mouth, as if your fist has spent the entire day inside a bucket of extra-crispy chicken from KFC. This makes swaddling you even more exciting than ever, since your right hand always seems to find its way out of the SwaddleMe:



The best part of this second month has been the increase in the amount of time you spend smiling and, dear God, giggling. I've been so successful at making you laugh that I've briefly considered taking my baby show on the road. I imagine concert halls full of infants, laughing at me while I make strange noises and faces. Of course, I'll probably get into it with Ticketmaster like Pearl Jam once did, then that'll be the end of that.

Of course, maybe you're just laughing at my antics because you're being polite.

You've been making an entire circus of new noises, and you even said the word "cow." And I swear to God you said "bear" to the bear that hangs above your bed this morning. Now, I'm not so overzealous as to think that you really knew what you were saying, but I have taken the liberty of telling everyone I encouter that you are a genius and will be finding cures for all diseases when you grow up. I hope you don't mind.

You're also getting stronger and stronger; when you're being held up, you push your legs down as if you want to stand up. You'll stand there, all wobbly and you'll turn your head in a way that makes you look like you're trying to check your butt out in the mirror. And, no, that diaper does not make you look fat.

When you're bored or looking for attention, you'll start to complain. Just yesterday, you turned your head to the side to tell the world about how much you suffer, then you looked over to me with one eye to make sure that someone was watching your display of sadness. Also, as soon as you catch a glimpse of boobie, you stop whatever crying you've been doing and you break out in the most shit-eating grin ever. I've been told time and again that breastfed babies will not drink if they're not hungry, so either you're always hungry or you're an exception to the rule. I'm sure you'll be one of those kids at college who can drink and drink, then puke, then drink some more. Because that's kind of what you do now. You will actually spit up any milk that's too much while you're drinking, then you get very, very angry when I take you away from your beloved boobie. We should just call you Sir Chugs-A-Lot. Anyway, don't you dare join a sorority.

It's becoming painfully clear that you're leaving the world of being a newborn baby, because you're not falling for the CD with the hairdryer noises on it anymore. All of this has given me a glimpse of what the months to come will bring. When you start to roll over, then God help us all. I have a sneaking suspicion that you're going to be one of those kids who become nerve-wrackingly mobile way too soon. You are very, very wiggly already, and you seem to get frustrated when you can't do things by yourself, like sticking that infernal pacifier back in your mouth for the 100th time while you're trying to go to sleep.

Just do us a favor: Don't grow up too fast.It's so crazy wonderful having a baby around here, I almost can't stand it.

Love,
Muddi

This month's nicknames: Smiley Joe, Mr. Man, Giggly Joe, Bärchen, Houdini, Snacky McSnack, Cracky McCrack

This month's song: This Will Be Laughing Week by Ultimate Fakebook