Dear Binja:

This week, you turned three months old.  Technically.  Of course, anyone who has met you or has had to listen to me talk knows that you are already 756.9 years old.  You are the oldest, wisest soul I know, and you prove it to me daily by forcing me to do things that I KNOW I should do, but constantly overlook.

Mainly: you make me slow down.

You’ve made numerous changes this month that add to your cuteness arsenal, but unfortunately, it’s been such a hellish month outside of our little bubble that your mother is delinquent on marking them down on a daily basis.  Some do stand out, however..

We now do tummy time daily.  We had avoided it until this month, because I can’t help but think of a fish out of water, gasping for life, as you thrash around.  But you never fail to amaze me during these times that we lay you like this; even though you hate it, you will constantly cheer yourself on.  You will make shouting noises, mocking gravity, and motivating yourself to just COMEONALREADYANDROLLOVER.

I think you get this sort of self-motivation from your mother.  Because while your father is smart enough to say, “I think I need to sit down and rest awhile,” your mother is the type to say, “I may not make it to <insert event here> because I’m at the hospital and stuck to IVs.. something about replenishing fluids and exhaustion.”  Lucky you.

We’re quickly learning eachother’s habits.  I have figured out that you will give a bleating, angry cry when you’re tired.. you also get this from your mother.  Both of our eyes get swollen and red when we’re overtired; you also have other, more dramatic ways of showing us that you’d rather just rest your eyelids for awhile.  That damn peacock that we shove in your face at every opportunity will just have to wait.

We were absolutely SHOCKED to hear that you were 13 lbs at your two month check up.  You are a chunk of a baby, but that makes you all the more cuddly.  And I swear, I probably couldn’t love you as much if you DIDN’T have that full puppy belly that begs for the zurbers.

In the coming week, we will have to more seriously address your Lucky Foot, which has me both terrified and optimistic.  We think it looks much better, but I can’t ignore the fact that we see it daily.  It’s part of you, to us.  But, honestly, I never know how people will react to it.  Your leg is a good two inches shorter on that side, and there are times when I’m overcome with the knowledge that you’ll be different from the other kids.  I hope that we will do you justice by raising you to believe that it IS lucky.  And that you can do it.  “It” being anything you damn well please.

Your brother is constantly amazing us with his interactions with you.  We never force him to do anything regarding you, but often times, we will hear you suddenly go quiet, and realize that he is standing in your sightline, softly talking to you.  He always makes you smile, which makes us completely melt.

This morning, in particular, on the exact day that you hit three months, you gave me a potent reminder of why you are a godsend to us.  I had turned my alarm off in my sleep, and it was storming outside.. so God had hit the snooze button, too.  I HAD to shower, HAD to be dressed nicely, HAD to pack a lunch, and you quietly played with your peacock as I ran around frantically trying to get us ready to head out of the door.  I had prepared a bottle before you woke up, and I was going to change your clothes, so I held you while you were nakey (in only a diaper) and finally sat down to feed you.  As I realized how much I needed to sit still and take a breath, you looked up at me and smiled.  Ear-to-ear, around your bottle.  Then you raised your hands up and held your bottle for me.  You have never done this, and I’ll be damned that there was not a camera around, because I swear your father will think I am fabricating this.  But inside, while I was ecstatic that you had made the connection that you had control, I was sad.. because you so often held MY hand while I held your bottle.  You are growing so fast that I cannot comprehend you ever being this wet noodle in a receiving blanket; thank you for forcing me to sit still, every four hours, and realize how incredibly blessed we are to have this time together.

You may be momma’s boy, but you certainly still look like your father: