Monday, February 27, 2012

Letter to Greta: 4 Months




Dear Littlest One,

You’re four months old! And so ridiculously cute. You smile pretty much all the time, whole-face smiles that could make even Hello Kitty grin. (Because she doesn’t have a mouth, see.) You are screeching and cooing. You laughed on Saturday, though no one heard it but me so it has yet to be confirmed. You still do your cute little wiggle when you wake up in the morning and I lean over to greet you.

You are still sleeping well, from 7pm to around 7am, with one night feeding around 4 or 5am. You take three naps, morning, afternoon, and late afternoon, with varying degrees of success for the first and third. You still eat like a champion. Nursing you has been so much fun, so easy (after the pain and the engorgement wore off, of course).

You are rolling over from tummy to back, and starting to grasp toys. You are kicking things around on your play gym. You’ve begun sitting in the Bumbo chair. It’s extremely cute. There’s something about the Bumbo that just makes a baby seem cuter and more roly-poly than she already is. You love sitting in it, and you stare avidly at whatever Lucia is doing. You want so desperately to crawl on over and join in. Of course, Lucia, too, wants to sit in the Bumbo. As soon as I put you into it, Lucia announces it’s her turn to sit there. She squeezes herself in for a minute or two and then carries it around the room. You take all this in stride.

For Valentine’s Day, Grandma and Pop-Pop got you and Lucia new stuffed pigs. Lucia is very, very excited that you have “matching Piggies,” and she makes sure that you have your Piggy at all times. When you’re sitting in your bouncy chair, Lucia dumps Piggy into your lap. If you’re lying on your play blanket, Lucia arranges Piggy beside you. It’s very cute, especially because at random times she’ll look at you and exclaim, “Matching Piggies!” So your big sister is already watching out for you. There are going to be lots of matching clothes and matching toys in your future, I think.

You are a big baby, already wearing six-month clothes. If your cheeks were any rounder and fatter they’d swallow your whole face. You have rolled, wrinkled thighs and dimpled hands and rolls of fat at your wrists. You just could not be any pudgier or cuter.

You’re a true joy, littlest one. Seeing you smile at your sister and daddy, feeling you snuggle into my neck when I hold you—I just love you to bits.

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