Dear Nicholas,
In some ways, it is much harder to write this third letter than the first two. For one thing, five a.m. came far too early this morning, and I’m having trouble thinking clearly. But mostly it’s because babyhood is a time of great simplicity, and virtually your entire life still stretches out before you. You haven’t yet revealed much of the boy and man you will become.
Your grandma Sander once told me that a baby’s nursing habits predict his later personality. In your case, that would be lazy. So far, she’s been right. When, at five months you were still lying contentedly on your back staring at the world, we had to invoke the aid of your sister’s PT to remind us how to teach a baby to roll over. As Charlie Brown would say, Good grief.
On the other hand, it’s not such a bad thing to be easygoing, to be satisfied with being adorable and having women of all ages going gaga over your long, come-hither eyelashes.
Although I must admit, you are capable of just as much drama as your sister. You suffer from the misfortune of having a mommy who has a much higher tolerance for whining and crying than she once did. I have a lot more to do these days, and it takes a lot more to force me to your side if I’m otherwise committed. But you rise to the challenge admirably.
On the other hand, being the third in line means that we’ve really mellowed about some things. TV, for instance. Alex was not allowed to face a TV screen until he was two years old. You are already drawn like a moth, lying on the floor and craning your neck to see behind you…and it’s a battle we just don’t have the energy to fight. Especially since you are so cantankerous about going to bed at night. We have enough battles as it is.
In seven days you will be six months old. How is that possible? I actually have the sweet potato that you will eat for your first meal sitting on the counter. You’re ready to eat and have been for ten days or so, but I groan at the thought of even more food prep…nursing is so simple…so I’ve been putting it off. Things are coming to a head, however. I bought a few days by putting you in your high chair at the table, so you felt like you were part of things. It was just as well; that allowed us to go ahead and rearrange the seat assignments at the table so that everybody was settled in when it came time to start feeding you solid food. (I had to expend several minutes’ worth of creative energy to come up with a new seating chart, one that allowed me to deal with both you and your sister, who still won’t use a spoon. She can…but she doesn’t. Stinker.) But the last two nights, you’ve been sitting on my lap, your head twisting wildly as you watch every bite travel from the plate to my mouth. Depending on logistics, you will get your first solid food either today or tomorrow.
And last night you got your first haircut. It had reached the point where even I had to admit that the poof of curls in the front of your head looked ridiculous (I mean, they were standing three inches off your crown!), so I let Daddy take a scissors to them.
Well, it’s Saturday morning and the cinnamon rolls are calling. There are no deep profundities in this letter, but that’s what makes the baby stage so nice…it’s time intensive, but it’s simple. Your needs are simple, and the most complicated part about filling them is juggling them with the needs of your older siblings. If the last six months are any indication, that will change soon enough.
Kathleen M. Basi 