four months

Dear Isla,

You are an exquisite creature.

You are four months old, and you have filled out deliciously. You are plump everywhere: rosy and glowing and sweet. I cannot stop myself from nibbling your cheeks, your neck, your thighs, your fingertips.

You coo and squeal and laugh. You regard me with a gaze so intimate and straightforward that it stops me short -- you are more than a cooing squealing laughing baby, you are a tiny god of infinite gazes, sagacious and wise.

You are a prodigious sleeper. Do you know how glad I am of this? I don't even know how to measure the gladness. It's a lot. When you wake up in the morning you don't even cry, you just murmur sweet little baby sounds from your bassinet and get happily tangled in your blanket.

You are rolling over now, which is hooray for you, but beginning-of-the-end for me. We won't be able to negotiate this, I can tell. You can't help yourself. But I think you like the rolling better than the resulting belly position, if your bellowing into the rug is any indication.

You have a sudden and urgent need for toys, and will grab for things with your whole body. Also, the hand-mouth reflex? OBJECT DETECTED IN HAND! OPEN MOUTH! CONSUME! CONSUME! Cracks me up every time.

I understand it, I want to do the same thing to you, you yummy baby.

You love Auden. You follow the sound of his voice; you giggle when he jumps, you guffaw when he rolls on top of you. I don't think he's quite as enamored of you, especially now that you are a threat to his monopoly on toy ownership, but I know he has his own fondness for you. Hidden under impulsive smacks to the face. Okay, forget it -- boys are jerks, it's time you learned.

You love music and singing, you are ticklish on the chub of your upper arms, you are fascinated by the pattern of the couch upholstery and greet it eagerly when I'm trying to feed you. You'd rather stand than sit, and I foresee some frustrating days of crawling ahead before you can run. I guess your papa and I are not capable of making babies that sit still and cuddle.

I'm watching you unfold with the same bittersweetness I felt with your brother. Can't you just slow down a little? Am I allowed to be wistful already for those blurry early days of you? There will never be another time like this, so I'm paying grateful attention to most every minute.

I continue to be under your spell, kissing and goofing endlessly to make you smile.

love,
mama